An Australian in Hogsmeade
by Thia
Summary: Jenna has never read the Harry Potter series, despite the recommendations of both her sister and her friends. And now she's in the Harry Potter world...
1. Author's Note

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Author's Note: This is a story that started with a simple question as I was reading some of the many Harry Potter fanfics. The situation of someone landing in Hogwarts has been dealt with many times over. But what if, I asked myself, that person had never read the Harry Potter books? And what if they didn't make friends straight away with a nice, conveniently helpful student, or advertise their complete bewilderment to the surrounding wizards and get themselves promptly Obliviated?  
_An Australian in Hogsmeade_ is my take on this situation. I have tried to keep as close to the facts presented in the actual books as possible. However, I don't actually own the books, so there will be details that I miss or forget. If anyone spots one of these, feel free to point it out in a review and I will do my best to correct it. Same with any incorrect assumptions about the British school system; I am from Western Australia (as is Jenna, conveniently enough) and that is the school system I know. I'm not even sure of the details of schooling in the other Australian states, let alone in England.   
The title was taken from George Gershwin's _An American in Paris_,and twisted to suit my own purpose.


	2. Prologue: Wonderland

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise from the Harry Potter books; if it seems familiar, it's fairly safe to say it's J. K. Rowling's, oh-wise-goddess of the Potterverse. The plot, such as it is, and Jenna, however, do belong to me.

**Prologue**

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What I am writing in these pages is a strange tale. It tells of what I experienced while on holiday once, but it is not a simple tale of travels. These are experiences for which there are few explanations. One, of course, is that it was all a dream and that I was simply playing the part of Alice in my own wonderland. If that is so, it was an incredibly real and elaborately detailed dream, and I am astounded at the abilities of my subconscious imagination. To create a new reality complete with scents and texture seems to me a phenomenal effort to go to simply for my personal enjoyment. 

Another possible explanation is that I went temporarily mad and suffered from severe delusions. Which leads us back to sheer astonishment at the creative powers of my subconscious and bewilderment that my conscious brain cannot come up with half so many details in my memories of reality.

And of course there is the possibility, remote though it may seem, that what I experienced truly happened, that there truly is another world side by side with this one and that I found myself there.

Whatever the case, whichever explanation you choose to believe, this tale of wonders is the truth as I perceived it and the truth as I choose to believe it.


	3. What's in a name?

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise from the Harry Potter books; if it seems familiar, it's fairly safe to say it's J. K. Rowling's, oh-wise-goddess of the Potterverse. The plot, such as it is, and Jenna, however, do belong to me.

** Chapter 1: What's in a Name?**

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I would like to say "It all started when.."

Unfortunately, there is no exact point at which this story starts. For every beginning I can choose, there is another still earlier on, at which point I may as well say "It all started when my mother decided that having a kid would be nice." Besides, as openings go, it would be incredibly conventional, ordinary and cliched.

I was in England at the end of summer and the beginning of autumn. I had finished school the year before, worked for six months and then hopped on a plane to Europe. University, I had decided, could wait a year.

I live in Western Australia, in a small town in the south-west of the state. Bridgetown is inland a bit and so not on the map of most tourists. It is cooler than most of Western Australia and actually has hills, unlike the vast majority of the state. Most people there grow fruit - peaches, apricots and cherries in summer, then apples and the like later on. Most of it is for the Perth market, but there is always the stuff that is too small or slightly marked. The fruit growers sell that stuff cheaply at the door to whoever passes, so fruit is always abundant in my home.

Anyway, school had finished in November and I'd left at the end of June. I'd gone to France, Italy, Austria, Switzerland 


	4. A boar by any other name would smell as

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Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise from the Harry Potter books; if it seems familiar, it's fairly safe to say it's J. K. Rowling's, oh-wise-goddess of the Potterverse. The plot, such as it is, and Jenna, however, do belong to me.

*** 

The Leaky Cauldron on the outside was dull and unremarkable. So much so it passed into the realm of less-than-ordinary and utterly un-noticeable. The sign with the pub's name was so dirty it was barely legible. Had I not a few days earlier been sitting in the cafe I mentioned observing passers by, I doubt I would ever have noticed it. As it was, it was the passers by that alerted me to the presence of the pub. I had noticed something odd during my observations - some people seemed to vanish around the point where I now knew the Leaky Cauldron to be. It was nothing so dramatic as a sudden invisibility, more like going out of sight behind a person or car and then failing to re-appear. It was subtle and I only noticed it at first because some of these people were wearing those odd, robe-like garments and the strange hats. A stuffed vulture as head-attire is noteworthy in itself, but it is even more so when it - and its wearer - disappear. So I watched closely and eventually, possibly in part due to my flat refusal to believe that these people were vanishing into thin air, I began to perceive the glimmerings of a building. Gradually it became more solid and real, until I was wondering how on earth I'd missed seeing it before. Persistence can work wonders.

The inside was incredibly different. It was like a whole new world, completely removed from the one on the other side of the small door. The interior was dim and smoky, lit by torches, oil lamps and candles. I noticed some of the candles had a bright bluebell coloured flame, and I made a note to check my chemistry textbook when I got home. Sodium and magnesium burned yellow and bright white, I knew, and I thought copper burnt green, but the only thing I could think of that gave blue was gas. There were even fewer people than I'd expected and assumed that there must be other rooms out the back, for meetings and whatnot. The people who were there seemed friendly enough, despite wearing not only the odd robes but also some of the strangest colour combinations I have ever seen. One creation was orange and puce green; after that I did my best not to look at the colours to closely. Despite the smoky torches the air smelt rather nice and I figured they had some aromatic oil mixed with the pitch.

I took another breath through my nose and detected something that said "food" to my poor neglected belly and "roast pork with apple sauce" to my tastebuds. I made my way over to where the barkeep was. He was bald and seemed to know nearly everyone in the room but he turned to serve me readily enough, ignoring a couple of greetings as he did so. I asked for the lunch special which, sure enough, was roast pork complete with crackling and apple sauce and baked potatoes on the side - "with sour cream, of course". I grinned at that; I was slightly proud of my nose and my ability to decipher scents in a room. That, and baked potatoes with sour cream are an undeniable favourite of mine.

"Sounds wonderful," I said and he grinned in turn as my stomach grumbled in agreement.

"Been a while since breakfast, eh? What would you want to drink with that? A beer?"

I almost grimaced. Beer is alright, I suppose, but I will never get used to drinking it warm. Especially in summer.

"I'd prefer something non-alcoholic. And cold," was all I said.

"Pumpkin juice then?"

I nodded, a little surprised but willing to give pumpkin juice a try, odd though it sounded. On the other hand, my mother had had a phase of making cucumber juice once (not something I recommend), so who was I to say anything? 

"Right then, that'll be seven sickles and fifteen knuts."

Any surprise at the sound of pumpkin juice promptly fled in the face of this. Had there been a sudden currency change that I'd somehow missed hearing of?

"Err 


	5. Wonders never cease

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Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise from the Harry Potter books; if it seems familiar, it's fairly safe to say it's J. K. Rowling's, oh-wise-goddess of the Potterverse. The plot, such as it is, and Jenna, however, do belong to me


	6. It's time to leave this town

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Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise from the Harry Potter books; if it seems familiar, it's fairly safe to say it's J. K. Rowling's, oh-wise-goddess of the Potterverse. The plot, such as it is, and Jenna, however, do belong to me.

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Chapter 4: It's time to leave this town

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Once on the train, I separated myself from the trio. They were obviously school friends who hadn't seen each other for a while. Come to think of itÉ The British school year started at the end of their summer, didn't it? Which meant now, evidently. So these three hadn't seen each other for a couple of months, which was all the more reason for me to leave them to rediscovering and reaffirming their friendship.

As they wandered down the carriage I heard Ron repeat "Two whats?"

"Dollars, Ron. Muggle currency."

"But I thought that was pounds?"

I turned away and walked in the opposite direction, leaving the explanations to Hermione, who seemed perfectly capable of explaining dollars to Ron. If nothing else, she seemed to understand why he hadn't heard of dollars. I wondered if anyone in the US realised that there was at least one kid in England who didn't know of them.

I started looking for a seat. This train seemed to have compartments; I'd never seen such a thing in a train before, only read about them. For that matter, I'd never been on a steam train before, so for all I knew they were standard issue in the things.

I managed to find myself an empty compartment, despite the number of people on the train. Shedding my pack, I shut the door and drew the curtain across the little window in it. Then I stepped back and considered. I wanted privacy to think about this situation I'd found myself in and that meant ensuring no interruptions. I knelt and opened my pack once again; it seemed I couldn't keep it closed for five minutes straight that morning. I pulled out a few pieces of clothing, rolled them up and stuffed them under the door. Then I picked up my pack and leaned it against the door for good measure. It wouldn't stop anyone who really wanted in, but it would suffice against the idly curious. I pulled out my sketchbook, pencil case, the unfrozen water bottle, and my CDs and discman. Closing the pack once more, I went and settled myself in the corner of the seat by the window.

We were just leaving the platform. I could see some parents and young children waving from the platform. One plump, short woman had hair as red as Ron's; his mother, I thought. She looked friendly enough, but formidable in her own way. As if she were as equally capable at wielding a rolling pin as a club as for its intended purpose. If she were Ron's mother it would certainly explain his manners. There was a tall, thin man next to the woman, balding but what hair he had was again as red as Ron's.

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Pater, I thought.

Then the Hogwarts Express in all its bright red glory entered a tunnel and Platform Nine and Three-Quarters vanished from view.

I turned my mind to my more immediate problems, starting with _Where on earth am I? _and moving right on to _Where am I going?_

I decided to leave those for a bit. Food at least wouldn't be a problem; these kids had to be fed somehow, after all. Besides, I had my own lunch - and a few other food essentials - in my pack. And it wasn't like I'd been dumped in the middle of the Great Sandy Desert. Instead I was on a train to a school with kids who were worried about missing classes - or a kid, at least - and probably some other kids who thinking things that would make teachers and some prefects reach for a detention slip. All perfectly normal and civilised, if you chose to ignore a few minor - and some not so minor - details.

Like that I'd finished school six months ago. I'd sat my TEE, got a decently high rank, and passed my English subject. I'd even endured a final night of speeches, stockings, blazer and tie to get the little bit of paper that said I'd graduated from high school.

Like that train had left from a platform with a number that had no logical business _being_ a platform number. Nine and three-quartes? It made no sense. Nine and a half I could have - maybe- understood; they'd needed a platform between nine and ten for some reason and hadn't wanted to renumber the entire bit of the station that had platform numbers that came after ten. Even 9.1 I could have dealt with; same as for nine and a half, just reflecting the ever increasing influence of computers and software companies in the world. But nine and three-quarters was completely illogical and nonsensical no matter how fancy a font it was written in. Besides, all those hypothetical explanations ignored a fairly major point; the disappearance not only of platforms nine and ten, but of King's Cross Station in all its entirety, people and trains included.

There were a few other things as well, like since when were steam engines used as transport in a developed country other than as a tourist attraction, and why on earth would a schoolboy have a gorgeous snowy owl as a pet? Quite apart from the whole owl factor - unusual enough in itself - I was fairly sure that snowy owls were under threat as a species, and possibly endangered.

These things, however, seemed fairly insignificant compared to the disappearance of a station. I considered all sorts of possible explanations, including mass teleportation. That one seemed any more likely than some of the things I'd come up with; after all, scientists had managed to teleport a little particle - an electron or alpha particle or something - a considerable distance in relation to the particle's size. Although as far as I knew they hadn't got much beyond that.

Finally I gave up for the moment; where I was was constantly changing as the train progressed, and I'd find out at least the name of where we were going when we got there. I turned to me CDs and sketchbook. Boots off my feet, I curled up and immersed myself in starting Tom's picture to the sounds of the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. 

***

I woke suddenly as the train began slowing. I had evidently dozed off at some point after lunch, finishing the nap that Harry had interrupted. Outside my compartment I could hear people moving around, older students with deeper, more mature voices telling the shrill younger ones to put robes on right _now_, please, we're almost there and the carriages won't wait long. I started putting my stuff back in my pack, but I left it leaning against the door. I didn't feel like explaining that not only did I have no robes, I wasn't a student either. I could hear someone asking people if they'd seen his toad. Responses ranged from confused no's to a groan of "Oh not _again_! Come on, we'll check the next carriage." That one actually sounded remarkably like Hermione. I just wondered why anyone would want a toad for a pet. Surprised I was not, however; I think I'd used up all the surprise I had left in me at about the time I'd noticed that platforms nine and ten were no longer around.

A voice came over the PA system - or equivalent, I wasn't going to take anything for granted at this stage and I hadn't noticed any speakers - saying that luggage was to be left behind as it would be taken up to the school separately.

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Not a chance, I thought. I wasn't a student, I wasn't going to the school and no way was I trusting a disembodied voice with my stuff.

Eventually the train stopped. I looked out the window as I waited for the carriage to empty somewhat. There was a small platform outside which was gradually filling with black-robed kids and teenagers. A sign said "Hogsmeade Station" and I assumed that Hogsmeade was the town the school was either in or near.

Eventually I decided it was time to get off the train, before it decided to do something like vanish as the ones at King's Cross had. I hoisted my pack onto the seat and then my back, doing up the waist- and chestbands. I left my little haven and emerged from the carriage into a sea of black robes.

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Weird uniform, I thought.

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Impractical, said the science student. _Imagine trying to run in those things. Or even walk up stairs._

In the midst of all the black, I saw a few flashes of that bright red hair and realised Ron must have a few siblings. Or cousins, maybe. A huge man was calling for "Firs' years! Firs' years this way!"

Definitely not me. I turned away from him and saw for the first time some of the odd looks I was getting. The platform by this time was beginning to empty a little, the little first years going off to the giant man. They really were little, far smaller than I remembered year eights being. Possibly this school started younger than thirteen. The other students were going to what I would have called carriages, as in horse-drawn, save for the lack of horses. Now that there were fewer people, I realised I stood out quite a bit. I was the only one in "normal" clothing - cargoes, a bright blue t-shirt and my hiking boots, which I'd put on again after I woke. I was also the only one carrying my luggage with me

I looked around the station. Whatever else, I flatly refused to consider going to the school. A strong case of been there, done that, if you will. There was a sign with "Hogsmeade" and an arrow on it, swinging gently in the light breeze. I began to make my way over to the path it pointed to when I heard a croak.

Down by my feet was, unmistakably, a toad. I sighed. I do not like toads, possibly a legacy of the horror stories of cane toads that my mother used to tell my sister and I. However, England, to the best of my knowledge, did not have cane toads, and this toad probably belonged to the kid on the train who'd been looking for one. I sighed again. I did _not_ want to get involved with this school any more than necessary. On the other hand, the kid had sounded fairly upset at losing his toad.

I saw another glimpse of that red hair, which was longer this time. If Hermione knew the toad-kid, as it had sounded like from what I'd heard, then this girl who was presumably related to Ron possibly did as well. Picking up the toad, I headed towards her.

"Hey!" I called.

She looked around at me.

"Could you give this to the kid who was looking for his toad?" I handed said creature to her. I gave her credit for not dropping it, despite being surprised.

"What? OhÉ that'd be Neville."

Then she looked at me, curiosity written on her face.

"Who're you? And why aren't you in your robes?"

Questions. Questions that, for some reason, I didn't feel like answering.

"Never mind. Just give the kid the toad."

I left her looking a little confused - _welcome to my world, _I thought - and started on the path to Hogsmeade.

***

The main street of Hogsmeade, which I could see in the distance, was darker than I'd expected it to be. The sun had almost completely fallen by this time - it'd taken me a good hour to get to where I was, most of it uphill, and I was maybe ten minutes from the edge of the town. Come tomorrow, my calves would be aching, unless I could give them some tender loving care tonight. Something along the lines of a nice, long soak in a hot bath. 

The air against my bare arms was a lot cooler than in London. I was comfortable in my t-shirt, but if I hadn't just been exerting myself, I would have needed a reasonably thick jumper. Sighing, I kept on trudging, hoping to find a good dinner, a bath and a comfortable bed.

As I drew closer, I noticed something peculiar about the street lights. They were spaced further apart than what I was used to, but that wasn't it. They were shaped more like lanterns, as if the town planners had been trying to create an atmosphere of Olde England, but again that wasn't what was really bothering me. In place of an electric light bulb, each street lantern had a dancing flame caged within the glass, and those flames simply floated in the middle of their lanterns, seemingly having no need for wick or candle.

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Weird thing number100 for today, I thought, and moved on. I had no more capacity for astonishment in me that day.

I moved on down the street to the one place that seemed open. A sign welcomed me to The Three Broomsticks.

Well, well, well. The second pub with an interesting name in as many days. I walked up to the doors and pushed one open, letting in a draught of cool air and letting out some warmth and noise. It was the only place I could see that looked like it might have rooms and was open.

Someone yelled at me to stop dilly-dallying in the doorway, to come or go but either way shut the blasted door!

I made my way into the room, letting the door close behind me. As it swung to, a stand which held several cloaks and odd hats - _again!_- was revealed in all its glory. Like the main street, The Three Broomsticks was lit by floating flames, save that these were not in glass but bobbed freely around, well above the heads of the patrons and away from anything that might catch alight.

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Like well-trained dogs, I thought. I could just imagine the sign in a pet store: _For sale: pet flames. Well trained in both illuminating and warming, safe around children._

I made my way over to a counter that seemed to serve both as reception and bar. On the way, I noticed a lot of people wearing similar robes to those I'd seen on the students, only with more variety in colour and style.

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To match the hats and cloaks, I thought flippantly. Then I realised I might not be too far wrong.

A woman looked at me from behind the bar.

"Hello! Welcome to the Three BroomsticksÉ wait a moment." She looked up at me. "Shouldn't you be at the school?"

"No, I shouldn't." I was aware that my tone was flat, but I was irritated and too tired to play the part of the nice guest. I know I look younger than I am, but honestly! Although I did have to give her credit for realising that the time was about right for me to have walked from the station after arriving on the Hogwarts Express. I made an effort be a little more friendly - after all, I had no idea where I was nor how long I'd be there. "I'd like a room, please - and some dinner also."

She pulled out a thick, heavy book from under the counter. It looked reasonably old; it was a hardback, covered it what looked like leather, and when she opened it I saw that the pages were thick and slightly yellow, as if from age.

"How long will you be staying?"

I thought about it, realising not for the first time that I had no idea.

"UmmÉ I honestly don't know beyond tonight. Can I say at least a week, with the option of extending my stay at the end of that time?" 

That would give me some time to sit and try to start figuring out answers to those annoying questions, at least.

"Hmmm. That should be fine; we don't have many guests at the moment, it being the start of term and all" She gave me an intense look, as if she wasn't really convinced that I shouldn't be part of the start of term. "Let me seeÉ rates are four galleons a night, but if you stay a week it's only twenty. That includes the house dinner and breakfast, but lunch is an extra four sickles a day if you want that included. If you pay the twenty galleons for the week tonight? - and if you stay longer you can pay the outstanding amount at the end."

My brain stopped receiving information at the mention of galleons and sickles. What on earth were they? Obviously money of some description, but they weren't part of a denomination I'd ever heard of. I wondered how to get past this one, then remembered the similar situation in The Leaky cauldron and decided to try the same thing.

"I'm sorry, but I've only got pounds and I don't think I'll be able to get anyÉ galleons for a while."

"Pounds? WhatÉoh, yes, of course. That's quite alright; I'll find out the current exchange rate from Gringotts' tomorrow and you can settle your account then."

I nodded, thankful that pounds, although not the norm, were acceptable here and that the woman hadn't noticed my slight pause before the word galleons. She came out from behind the counter and I followed her into a hallway and up some stairs. After a few flights of stairs, a right turn and some more hallway, she stopped outside a door and opened it. Then she turned to me and handed over a heavy, old-fashioned key.

"There you are, dear. You look about done in - would you like dinner sent up here for you?"

I just nodded gratefully, feeling like some sort of mechanical toy.

"Right then, it won't be long. Oh, good heavens! I nearly forgot - I'm Madam Rosmerta. And can I have your name for the books, please?"

"Jenna Curlew. And thankyou for letting me have dinner in my room."

"No problem. Sleep well."

With that she left the room, shutting the heavy wooden door behind her. I shed my pack and boots and turned to survey my room. The carpet was thick underfoot and I took off my socks as well, wriggling my toes happily in the pile. A large four-poster bed was against on wall and there were two doors other than the one that led to the hallway. One proved to be the entrance to a walk-in wardrobe. The other led to a bathroom. Only it was far more than that word can convey. Near the door was a sink and bench, with a large mirror behind them. In the back left-hand (to me as I looked in from the door) corner was a large shower, enclosed in glass. The truly wonderful thing, however, was on the right-hand side of the room. A large bath set in the floor, with several taps (why they needed more than two I intended to find out) set into the wall beside it and - luxury of luxuries and something I'd often wished for but never actually seen on a bath - a comfortable-looking head rest at one end. The whole room was in cream and gold, going well with the red and cream of the bedroom.

What the Three Broomsticks lacked in electric lighting, it more than made up for in plumbing.

I turned and wandered back into the bedroom, noticing my dinner on the table by the window. It scared me a little that the maid or whoever had entered the room and I hadn't noticed; I'm normally far more observant, and while the thick carpet silenced footsteps, I should at least have heard the door handle turn. I made my way over to the door and pushed the key into the lock, hearing the tumblers fall as I turned it.

Then I turned back to the dinner tray. I could smell lentils and fresh bread and pumpkin, and I lifted the cover from the tray. There was a bowl of thick lentil soup, with a crisp bread roll on a plate beside it. A jug proved to contain some pumpkin juice, not icy cold this time, just cool in deference to the colder air up here.

I weighed up whether the wonders of a nice, hot bath were worth risking the dinner getting cold. The I grinned: what was there to stop me having a bath and dinner at the same time? I proceeded to put this plan into motion, discovering why so many taps were on the wall in the process.

My soup bowl empty, I lay back in a sea of purple, sandalwood-scented froth, sipping the last of my pumpkin juice. The water stayed hot, and I assumed that there must be some heating system around the bath. Eventually I decided I should get out before I fell asleep where I was.

Washed, dried and happily full, I padded over to the bed and crawled beneath the doona., blowing out candles on my way. My last thought was more of an observation; it was a good thing they used normal candles and not those floating flames to light the rooms, because I would have had no idea how to douse them.

***

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Author's Note: The chapter title is part of a line from _Road Trippin'_, by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. So ok, London's a little big to be called a town, but it still seemed appropriate.

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The TEE: short for tertiary entrance exams. These are sat in the final year of school, which is year twelve. Most people turn seventeen in the year they sit them. We have no other major lots of exams, just the run-of-the-mill end of year/semester ones, although for most year twelve subjects the year eleven equivalent subject must be passed. From the TEE every student who sat them is given a tertiary entrance rank (TER), which tells you where you came in relation to the rest of the state who sat the TEE. So if you get a TER of 90, your TEE score was better than or equal to 90 percent of the state's scores. Also, in order to graduate from high school, you have to get at least a C in an English subject.

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Endangered snowy owls: I can't remember where I heard/read this, but I'm fairly sure it's true. And it's not helped by all the littler Harry Potter maniacs who want snowy owls for Christmas or birthdays.

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Teleportation: again, it's true. I can't remember the details, but I read in New Scientist that scientist have figured out how to teleport some little particle or other.

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Year eights and thirteen year olds: here high school starts in year eight, when most people are thirteen. They're little enough, but eleven year olds would be quite a bit smaller. If I was in Jenna's situation, I'd find it fairly noticeable. Finishing primary school in year 5? Weird.

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Cane toads: A Queensland thing and really not something we want in WA. I think a few have been found here, but they were promptly eliminated and I've heard nothing since. Here's hoping it stays that way.

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From last chapter: the two dollars tax deductable line is from what was an ongoing joke for us during school. Here when charities ask for donations, the little forms usually say "all donations two dollars and over are tax deductable." At school, it would usually be for "The Poor Starving Boarder Fund."

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Reviews: Thankyou all. I've tried to reply via email to some of the longer ones, but some points were brought up which I'll reply to here.

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Brightbear: you slacker, you didn't sign in. And here is the next instalment so you don't go and die from starvation. Never let it be said that I donÕt take care of my readers.

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Aradia: thanks for pointing out the lack of paragraphs, I think I've fixed it *fingers crossed*

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Astraea: I couldn't agree more on the Steve Irwin thing. In fact, I hadn't even heard of him until the Harry Potter CoS film came out here and I saw a preview for a Crocodile Hunter movie, and _that_ was quite enough to make me grimace every time I hear his name. That accent - ugh.


	7. Once, Twice, Thrice

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Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise from the Harry Potter books; if it seems familiar, it's fairly safe to say it's J. K. Rowling's, oh-wise-goddess of the Potterverse. The plot, such as it is, and Jenna, however, do belong to me.

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Important: As of 11/2/03, chapter four has been added to - it's a good third longer now. All of it's at the end, and if you don't read it you might be a little confused, as by this chapter it's the next morning and Jenna is already in Hogsmeade and reasonably settled.

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Author's cry for help: I cannot get elipses to work - if you see some funny symbol, it's probably meant to be three little dots. On my screen they come up as a ?c. If anyone can help, it would be much appreciated, as I tend to use them rather a lot.

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Chapter 5: Once, twice, thrice

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Next morning I awoke at around eight. I lay there for a while, enjoying the indulgence of what, for me, was a nice sleep-in, before finally throwing back the doona. I moved over to the window, pulling back the heavy curtain and looking out. The view was not of the main street as I'd expected. Instead I could see a grassy area leading away from the pub. After a while it began to gently slope away from where I was before forming into a full-fledged hill. The hill was everything a poet - or artist - might look for; large, smooth, green and rolling and even had a castle at the top. To one side of the castle I could see a darker green against the grass that suggested there was a forest there.

I turned away from the window and went over to my pack. I wanted a shower despite my long soak last night; I hate not being freshly clean in the morning and it wasn't as if I had to worry about water shortages like we had at home in the summer.

After a short shower, I went downstairs to collect breakfast. I decided to have breakfast in my room so that I could get started on trying to figure out where on earth I was. I set the breakfast tray on the window-side table, inhaling as I did so. Breakfast was not skimped on; beneath the covers lay what seemed to me to be a three course banquet. Scrambled eggs with mushrooms and some of those fat little sausages were on one plate, on another was some lightly toasted fresh bread and in a small bowl was some fresh fruit. There was a pot with hot water in it and a variety of teas beside it; several little pots proved to contain jams, honey and butter. There was also a metal pitcher which had more of that pumpkin juice in it and a little jug with milk.

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I can handle this, I thought as I sat down to my little feast. The only thing that appeared to be missing was some vegemite, which didn't really surprise me much. However, I hadn't left Australia unprepared; that little oversight could be easily remedied by a quick search through my pack. There are some things that are traditional on toast and vegemite is one of them.

Happily full after breakfast, I sat down with pen, paper and a cup of tea. It was time to start considering my situation.

The first thing I had to figure out was how long I had until people began to worry. No-one was expecting me to arrive anywhere; I hadn't booked anywhere, intending to find somewhere I liked when I got there. The only people who would expect to hear from me would be my friends and family back home. I'd sent a group email the day before yesterday, as well as sending off the package to my family.

I had, then, maybe one and a half to two weeks before people bacon to worry. I sent emails to my friends every two weeks; the week and a half was for my family, who I contacted once a week. By the end of a fortnight my mother would be ringing and asking my friends if they'd heard from me, and they, in turned, would begin to worry. Two and a half weeks would see my friend extremely worried and my family frantic, by three weeks a search would be called.

If I know nothing else, I know my friends and family.

To save everyone stress and worry, the British and Australian police forces a lot of money and the diplomats some extra work, I needed to get in communication by a week and a half's 

time, two weeks at the latest. It'd also save me from the strings of lectures once everyone realised I was fine, and from the guilt trips I knew I'd send myself on from time to time.

My deadline sorted out, I turned to the things that were different between the normal - my world, if you will - and this strange new one I'd found myself in.

I decided to ignore the unusual things - like bright purple bath froth (not bubble, froth) - and go straight to the things that just shouldn't be.

One: a currency that involved galleons and sickles. Not pounds and pence, dollars and cents, cedi, yen, rand, pesos, rupiah or any other currency I'd ever heard of, but galleons and sickles.

Sickles.

That struck me and I frowned. I was sure I'd heard that word in a similar situation and that I wasn't just getting deja vu. The feeling of memory was too recent, if that makes sense. Then I remembered: Tom, at the Leaky Cauldron, had asked me for sickles and knuts when he'd taken my order.

I frowned. How likely was it that two different places - one in a different world to my own - would both ask for sickles as currency, if the other place was not also of this new world?

__

Once is chance, the saying went.

I thought about any other similarities I could come up with.

Lots of people wearing robes, cloaks and odd headwear, some in colours - and colour combinations - that were definitely not part of the current fashion by any stretch of the imagination.

__

Twice is coincidence.

Neither place had electric lights. Instead both used some form of flame for all their lighting as far as I had seen.

__

Three times is conspiracy.

And then there was that pumpkin juice - served in metal goblets and pitchers at both places. Come to think of it, the bottle I had from Tom were also metal.

Perhaps if three times were coincidence, four times was war.

So I concluded that the Leaky Cauldron was part of this world, and by some quirk of fate, or possibly sheer happenchance, I had wandered into it just the day before the platform debacle. Going by what Tom had said, I could probably safely assume that the new currency consisted of not just sickles and galleons, but knuts as well. And I had none of any of them, so I decided that getting some of them should be placed at the head of the priorities list.

Both Tom and Madam Rosmerta had fortunately known of pounds. Perhaps I could ask Madam Rosmerta to change some for me. The other good side to that point was that it suggested that there were links between this world and the other, and therefore presumably ways back and forth between them.

__

I could write a book, I thought. _Jenna's World and How It Vanished._

It sounded like the title of a children's book. Maybe in the 10-12 age group.

Next significant oddity: the local fashion. Either there were enough leaders of religious orders in this world for everyone and their pet to have their own personal priest, or robes, cloaks, etc. were considered normal attire here, at least among adults. Most of the kids seemed to wear normal clothing; the obvious exception to that being when I'd stepped off the train yesterday evening. Then they'd all been wearing black robes with silver clasps.

I decided that particular phenomenon was due to school uniform, and therefore not to be considered normal. _Our_ school had made us tuck in our shirts, after all. Technically we were even supposed to do so for PE, but everyone, even a teacher, has their limit. Which was good, as it meant I could continue wearing what clothes I had without being considered too much of a freak.

As for where I was, all I could come up with was "somewhere quite a bit north of yesterday morning" and that was based purely on the temperature. Of course, we could have gone south and run towards the southern hemisphere's early spring, but I doubted that was the case. For one thin, it would have taken a lot longer than a day by train and for another trains weren't capable of overseas travel unless they went under them via convenient tunnels. None of which went that far south.

That seemed to cover pretty much everything, except for the inexplicable floating flames and that there was some little detail niggling at me that I couldn't quite grasp. I knew from past experience that there was no point trying to tease it out; if I left it alone it'd hit me like a sledgehammer and leave me wondering how I could have missed something so obvious.

I left the desk and decided to unpack. My stuff didn't even begin to fill the wardrobe; I'm good at packing lots of stuff into a small space, but not that good. I turned a spare shelf into a sort of pantry, putting my few food necessities on it. The I took out the bag I used during the day, put some essentials - sketchbook and pencils being among the first - in it, pulled on my boots and left the room, taking the breakfast tray with me. It was time to explore the rest of Hogsmeade.

***

The main street of Hogsmeade was quite different by day. The night before it had been deserted; that morning there were people walking in both directions, not hurrying, but not exactly dawdling either. Shops were either opening or already were, catering to the morning passers by. I could see people in one window putting up a new display; chocolates and caramels and toffees were brought out and arranged; the shop was called Honeydukes and I made a note to pay it a visit when I had some useful money.

I moved on down the street. On my left a sign bade me welcome to "Zonko's: All your joking needs!" I was sure that the teachers loved the products from that one.

Another store seemed empty, until closer inspection revealed that there were counters, tables and chairs inside, and people doing things, but it just wasn't open. There was a notice on the window saying that the Hogsmeade branch of Florean Fortescue's Icecream Parlour would be having its grand opening on the fifth day of autumn and that all present would be given a free double scoop icecream in the flavours of their choice. I could hear the people around me chattering excitedly about it.

"Florean himself is coming"

"special fireworks, not just those Filibuster's"

"the school's allowed down - Dumbledore's giving them a surprise weekend here because of it!"

"Really? Well, they need some fun after last year - "

"- yes, that was a terrible business. It'll be good for business too, having them down"

I moved on. Suddenly I felt homesick, for the first time since leaving, and I wondered why now. Was it because suddenly I had no way to contact my family and friends that I knew of? Was it because I was in this world where most of the time everything was normal, and then something blatant would come and hit me in the face and say "you are not home, you are not in your world, you do not belong here?"

Whatever the reason, I wanted to be at home, sitting at the kitchen table while my mother made bread, I wanted to be in Fremantle eating a two scoop icecream with mocha grande and caramel malteser and talking to my friends about everything and nothing, I wanted to be sitting in the lounge and playing my piano, all at once. I could feel an ache in my throat and blinked back a few tears. I would not, will not, cry in public. I very rarely cry even in front of my family, and then it is because I am incredibly angry, not from sadness or misery or loneliness.

I turned right into a side street and then right again, heading in the direction I had come from but one street over. I repeated this zigzag a few times, heading for the edge of town and then leaving it altogether. I deal with feeling lonely by going off alone; paradoxical, I know. Perhaps it is because I was an only child for quite a few years; my sister is six years younger than me, and I was used to privacy when I was a child. I still value it and have found ways to keep it, even in a boarding school.

When I am alone I write, or I sketch, or I read, or I listen to music, or I walk. Or I do all and any of the above. Anything, really, that will occupy my mind and that means I will not have to see other people until I am ready. If I do see someone I am usually rude and say things I do not mean until either they or I leave. I have never known anyone to stay if I do not wish it. Afterwards I usually regret my words and I apologise and hope they understand that I did not mean it.

That day I left Hogsmeade and walked up the hill I'd seen from my window. The castle should be good for an all-day sketch. Then there was the forest I'd seen, too, which seemed promising walk-wise. There was a path winding up the hill, taking gentler slopes to me, but I preferred the exertion of the steeper climb, so I ignored the path.

As I neared the top of the hill - and the castle walls - my route and the other path coincided once more. I realised that there was only one gate in the wall, and while it was open the path led straight through it. I sighed, realising that to get into the castle grounds I would have to travel the beaten path at least a little way. I passed through the open gates, under the shadow of walls that would have been at least a couple of metres thick, and into the sun beyond. 

The castle itself was spectacular, all the more so since I'd actually been expecting a sort of fairly intact ruin when it was actually in complete repair. It looked like an architect's dream and a builder's nightmare, an artist's painting captured by a poor engineer and made to work without spoiling the image. I could imagine the arguments even now: _"Thou cannot put that there, for thou will ruin the line!" _- that would be the lordly architect, and the poor builder, finally at the end of his tether, would bellow _"With all respect, sir, if I don't put that stone there the whole ruddy thing will fall!" _And the architect would leave in a huff and the builder would do likewise, while the poor overlooked apprentice would sit and plan and figure until he had something that would maintain the line _and_ stay up.

There were turrets on towers that soared above battlements, along which I could so easily picture guardsmen marching, armed with swords and bows. Just as easily I could envisage dimly lit dungeons plunging into the depths of the earth below the castle.

Manicured lawns - it always seems such a ridiculous term to me, but in this case it was entirely appropriate - stretched away from the path on both side. There were no "keep off the grass" signs, for which I was thankful. What is the point of having beautiful lawns if you cannot walk barefoot across them, feeling clean grass beneath your feet and between you toes?

I took off my boots and socks and proceeded to do exactly that, finding some comfort in the faint tickling sensations. I walked to a lake that had been on my left as I faced the castle, the same one, I assumed, that I had seen the sun glinting off from my window that morning. There was a small beach at the edge of the lake, but I stopped just shy of it, preferring to flop belly down on the grass. Living in Western Australia has spoilt me a little; I am used to white - really white, not some yellow shade, but white - beaches of incredibly fine sand with almost no-one on them. The lack of people doesn't happen in the city, of course, but in Dunsborough, Gracetown, Denmark, Esperance - even one other family on the beach seems crowded, so you move on to the next, which will probably be empty, even in summer.

I pulled out sketchpad and pencils and set to drawing my homesickness away. The castle, with its towers and turrets and arches and battlements, was a sketch that promised to take hours.

****

Author's Note: Apologies for the delay in updating, I've had a busy week, with a birthday and whatnot.

__

The countries from which the currencies come from, in order: 

Britain (no duh)/Egypt/probably some other places, Australia/New Zealand/US/Canada/lots of other places too (score negative five for originality, say I), Ghana, Japan, South Africa, Chile & Indonesia.


	8. Enter, the Dragon

It was not until a shadow fell across my work that I paused. Being alone and occupying myself beyond though had worked its usual magic; there were no remnants of homesickness or self-pity left. Lunch time, I guessed, had long since passed, but thanks to the combination of the enormous breakfast I'd had and the relatively late time at which I'd eaten it I hadn't felt any hunger. In fact, I was only just beginning to feel the faint stirring's of the beginning of feeling hungry - more along the lines of a vague "a peach would be kind of nice sometime soon" than anything definite. I would never have been able to handle a hobbit's daily meals if I couldn't handle even a large breakfast and lunch in the same day.

A glance at my watch confirmed my guess; it was half-past two, closer to afternoon tea than lunch. Perhaps I could get some fruit from Madam Rosmerta; although it was probably too late for peaches, I was sure there'd be something - after all, there'd been that wonderful selection at breakfast. Strawberries, perhaps, or maybe mangoes no, that was probably too much to hope for.

"Who are _you_? And what _are_ you doing here? Why aren't you in class?"

The arrogant voice interrupted my musings, recalling me to the reason I'd stopped sketching in the first place. I have never heard anyone, before or since, manage to put so much holier-than-thou attitude into an entire speech as was put into every word of that sentence.

I looked up idly at the owner of the shadow that had fallen across the page I'd been working on. It was a boy, dressed in the same black robes as the students on the platform at Hogsmeade had been, with a gleaming silver _P_ pinned on them. His colouring looked a lot like mine, only a lot paler in nearly every respect. He had platinum blonde hair, while mine was that not-uncommon shade between light brown and dark blonde. His skin was incredibly pale; I looked like I spent every hour I could in the sun in comparison, when in truth I have fair skin with barely the faintest of tans. For an Aussie, anyway; here in England I am actually a little darker than quite a few people, something that quite surprised me. I mean, I knew England didn't get much sun, but I didn't realise quite how little it actually gets. As for his eyes, they were the only thing that weren't shockingly pale; they were a perfectly normal grey colour. At that moment they were looking down what was probably an aristocratic nose at me.

And yes, I do normally notice these things when I meet someone; blame it on my inner artist if you like. I am constantly - almost subconsciously - looking at colours and asking "Could I reproduce that? What colour is it closest to and what would I have to add to make it right? How does it change in the shadows?"

"Well?"

I was getting a little annoyed by his tone.

"I _was_ quite happily sketching, as you could have worked out for yourself. And as for the first, give me your name, boy, and I shall give you mine. Hasn't anyone ever taught you the rudiments of introductions?" 

I didn't bother getting up. Height advantage only works if you let it, and I suspected that my lying quite comfortably on the grass rather annoyed him.

He glared at me. I sighed.

"This is the point where you state your name and then I state mine. Don't you know that visitors introduce themselves second?"

To be honest, I have no idea of the finer - or even just the fine - points of etiquette, but that seemed perfectly reasonable to me. Evidently the arrogant boy didn't quite agree with my impeccable logic, though.

"As the intruder on school grounds, I believe that _you_ should start stating names and intentions first."

This was a school? This wonderful castle, with the lake behind me and the forest over somewhere and the towers in front of me, was a school? My reaction was along the lines of mild shock mixed with "why couldn't _our_ school have grounds like this?"

"Intruder? How so? I believe that intruder implies that one has entered an area where one is clearly not welcome. Since the gates were wide open and there were no signs telling me to do otherwise, I don't believe entering these grounds constitutes an intrusion."

My mother has a fascination with the origins and meanings of words. I have a mild interest, but rather than looking it up in a dictionary straight away, I prefer to look at a word, try and see what the roots are and figure out a logical meaning from that. Sometimes - as now - it came in useful. Especially as it didn't really matter if what I said was the exact meaning according to the dictionary, but only that my interpretation made logical sense. 

The boy glared a bit more intensely, but seemed to concede the point.

"Draco Malfoy, prefect from Slytherin house."

Ah. So _that's_ what the silver P was all about. Although just prefect? Our school had had prefects, but the word simply meant those on the student executive - House Captains, Arts Captains and the like.

Then I noticed the boy's - Draco's - expression. It was as if he expected me to recognisee something from what he'd said and then proceed to I would have said obey him, but that's not quite right. Fear him is closer. Or maybe instantly hate him. I couldn't quite figure out what it was, or why.

"Jenna Curlew, no longer a school student."

He raised an eyebrow. I wondered how long he'd practised in front of a mirror to perfect that little trick.

"Oh, expelled?"

__

That really annoyed me. Not just the words, but the way he said it. As if it were the only possible explanation.

"Actually, I graduated. It's not that unusual. And would you please move? You're blocking the light."

Surprisingly he did so, although not with any more pleasant an expression. The glare was still intact, for one thing. Still, I had to take what I could get.

"Thankyou," I said politely, then proceeded to ignore him as I put the final touches on my sketch - a touch of shadow here, a firmer line there, a slight adjustment of a curve as it swept around.

Finally I finished and packed up. Pencils put back in their case, sketchbook closed and returned to my bag. Then I stood up, picked up both my shoes and bag, and started walking along the edge of the lake, away from the gates.

"Where are you going?"

I was surprised that Draco was still there. I hadn't expected him to hang around; after all, he had expected that I should be in class, so by the same thinking he should have classes.

"Wandering. Shouldn't you be in class?"

"No, I've got a free. And you know, it's not overly safe in some places here. There's the lake, for one thing. The rocks are quite slippery."

A condescending tone is not what to use to improve my mood.

"Of course the rocks are slippery; they'd be wet and probably have algae on them. I do know about things like that. And if I do fall, I'll just swim. You know, that thing you do in water to stay afloat and get somewhere?" My friends would have known how irritated I was really getting. I usually don't resort to sarcasm. "Now, if you don't mind, I shall proceed in my wandering."

His glare intensified some more; I wondered how many degress of glare he had developed.

"Suppose I do mind?"

That was the last straw.

"Allow me to rephrase that; I don't care whether or not you mind, I'm going to go walking around here. These grounds are beautiful, the castle is spectacular, the lake is perfect, and I'm not about to let some random kid prevent me exploring them."

I turned and walked away before I degenerated into yelling and swearing at the arrogant brat. I walked quickly, along the edge of the lake. Most of the shore was muddy, which I didn't particularly care about, with the occasional little strip of sand like the one I'd flopped down near that morning. After a while I came to the rocks that Draco had mentioned. I set down my belongings, cleaned my feet on the grass nearby and put on my boots. Then I started clambering up and over the rocks. I left my bag on the grass - if I did slip, I didn't want my sketchbook getting wet.

I've always loved clambering over rocks, finding the best way up. When I was a little kid I used to climb things so I could be higher than my parents. Now I climbed for sheer enjoyment of it and to sit on top of the pile of rocks, high above the lake with a light breeze ruffling both the water and my hair. I wondered if I could swim in the lake at some point; swimming was one of the things I missed most from home and the day was quite warm.

Eventually I started down from my perch. It was time to head back to Hogsmeade and let reality - such as it was - invade my life again. Starting with that bowl of fruit.

However, when I reached my bag, Draco Malfoy was near my bag. It was obvious that he'd been there nearly the entire time I'd been on the rocks.

"Doesn't England have a stalker law?" I asked. I was somewhat calmer than when I'd left - or thought I'd left - him, but I still wasn't feeling particularly generous.

"Probably. However, I am only here because school rules now state that no visitor may be left unattended while on the grounds."

He smirked as if he was quite aware how much his mere presence served as an irritant. There was simply no other word for his expression; he could have sold photos of it to publishers of picture dictionaries to use as part of the definition. I didn't tell him this though; he already seemed to have a large enough ego and I hardly wanted to compliment him - which was probably how he'd take it.

"What, scared I'll start pulling the castle down stone by stone with my bare hands?" I asked instead and rolled my eyes a little; childish, I know, but it seemed to suit the occasion.

"Which part of "school rules" did your mind not manage to grasp?"

"I haven't been to school for ten months now," I pointed out. "I've been working quite hard - and successfully - at forgetting I ever heard of the things."

He smiled at that - a genuine smile, albeit only a half-one - surprising me once more. Then he seemed to mentally pause.

"Ten months? How does that work? In case you hadn't noticed, the school year starts in September - and if it's been changed since yesterday, someone failed to inform the students."

For some reason, he was lightening up, being a little less insulting in tone although not so much in words - not that I was complaining. Any improvement is better than none.

"I'm not from here - can't you tell by the speech? I'm from Australia, and I finished last November."

"Aren't you meant to say "g'day" when you meet someone, then? And you don't have an Australian accent."

People had told me that before and I quite believed them, if for no other reason than I can hear a so-called Australian accent in other people, if they have one. What I thought the closer truth to be, however, was that I didn't have a broad Australian accent. Actually, I think that's mostly found in Queensland, but for some reason it's become "the" Australian accent. Maybe something to do with the Gold Coast and all that.

"For your information, I have never said g'day as a standard greeting. And I certainly don't recall you saying anything that deserved a g'day in return when you interrupted my sketching. Do you always greet people so civilly, or was I a special case?"

"You? Special?"

I might have guessed. If you're going to be rude, make it a permanent habit.

I bent down to pick up my bag and started back towards the gates.

"What, leaving already?"

I looked sideways at him. If I didn't know better, I would have said there was a faint trace of regret beneath the mock-insulting tone. It was mock-insulting now; having heard the real thing, I was able to pick the difference, although it was very subtle.

"People to see, things to do - and food to eat." The last was added after a little nudge from my stomach. "I intend to come back though - maybe tomorrow. There's still a fair bit I haven't explored."

I glanced at my watch.

"Half past three; no wonder I'm ready for lunch."

Draco looked startled as I said the time.

"I've got to go, I've got an assignment due in at four, and I want to get it in before the rest of the class crowds the desk."

I nodded, not asking why it wasn't due in during class.

"See you then, maybe."

He nodded, the turned and walked to the castle. I headed off down the hill, thinking of afternoon tea.

***

As I entered the Three Broomsticks, Madam Rosmerta looked up from behind the bar.

"Hello," I called. "Any news on the exchange rate?"

"Oh yes. Gringotts said it's currently 23.76 pounds to the galleon, so that's 237 pounds 60 for the week."

I pulled out my wallet and handed over the money; that was about as much as I actually kept in there. The rest of my cash was in various hiding places in my bags and other than that, my money was in the bank. I asked her about the fruit and she nodded, going into the kitchen and bring out a small bowl of strawberries. I thanked her and headed up to my room.

As I sat eating the strawberries - which, incidentally, were delicious - I considered the money here. Twenty-three pounds to the galleon seem like an incredible amount, but then she'd mentioned that lunch was four sickles. It seemed that, instead of the pound/galleon exchange rate being incredibly worse than the Aussie dollar/pound one - which would be decidedly hard to achieve - the galleon was simply a valuable monetary unit. I wondered how many sickles there were to the galleon, and knuts to the sickle. Perhaps if I looked at prices around I'd get an idea. 

It occurred to me that I should get some of the local currency. Maybe five galleons? That should be plenty, given that a room for a week was ten. And I could ask for the last galleon in sickles - then at least I'd find out how many sickles there were to the galleon.

I pulled some cash from its hiding place and went downstairs to ask Madam Rosmerta if she could change the money for me.

As I reached the bottom of the staircase, I could hear Madam Rosmerta talking to someone. Not wishing to interrupt, I waited for a little, listening to the conversation to see if was close to finishing or whether I should just head back to my room.

"..yes, she arrived yesterday, looks like she should still be in school. After what you said about letting you know if there were any strangers in town - "

"Yes, quite. She may be the same one who was in the school grounds today - light brown hair, longish? Kind of between medium and tall height, fairly slender?"

"Yes, that's her - why would she go up to the school? She was wearing a short sleeved shirt when she came in, she hasn't got a dark mark."

"From what I could tell, she was sketching until she was interrupted by Mr Malfoy. They seemed to get on reasonably well - or at least, no one started beating up the other and they continued talking for some time, which for Mr Malfoy is very well indeed. Or it is entirely possible that she is as capable of insulting people as he is."

I didn't like being talked about and I definitely didn't like being spied upon. I could walk quietly away now - or I could enter the room and let these people know that I was entirely unimpressed by their conduct, and probably answer a whole string of questions as well. I shrugged, and entered the room.

"Madam Rosmerta, may I ask why you feel it necessary to report on my presence and activities?"

She had been kneeling in front of the fireplace, which I thought was strange, as was the fact that it was lit. That was nothing, however, to what I saw when she turned around. There was a head in the fireplace - and it wasn't being burnt.

"Well, Jenna Curlew, is it?" the head asked.

I controlled my expression and simply nodded. The head had silvery hair and beard and was quite wrinkled. The blue eyes were twinkling slightly behind half-moon spectacles.

"I am Albus Dumbledore. I'd offer to shake hands but in my current situation"

"Well, at least you offered. More than I can say for Draco."

"Oh, I take it he was his usual charming self?"

"I wouldn't really know, since I don't know what he's like normally. Mr Dumbledore, can we please stop beating about the bush? I'm guessing since you saw fit to spy on me that you've got some questions you'd like to ask."

Not the nicest wording, I knew, but then setting up a spy system wasn't exactly polite, either.

"Yes, my apologies for that."

I simply looked at him. If he was sorry for the spying, he wouldn't have had it done in the first place. More likely he was sorry that I'd found out, and rather quickly too.

"Anyway Jenna, may I see the inside of your left forearm?"

I turned my arm so he could see it, wondering why he would make such a strange request.

"Hmm, yes Jenna, why were up at the school today?"

"I'm interested in historical buildings. I was expecting a ruin, or for the castle to be abandoned, but when I found it to be in perfect repair" I shrugged. "I like to sketch, and that castle was something I decided to sketch, so I did."

He looked at me a little more intensely.

"You wouldn't have been in the Leaky Cauldron the day before the Hogwarts Express left, would you? Tom mentioned a girl who sketched and you fit the description."

I was a little surprised that the reports had started so early.

"Actually, I was - how long have you been receiving information on me anyway? Does every shopkeeper have my description or something?"

He chuckled at my exasperated tone.

"No, just me - we need to keep note of strangers in these times, is all. From what Tom said your sketching is quite good. Next time you're at the school, would I be able to see your work?"

"Of course, if you really want to."

"Yes, I think I do. Just ask someone to take you to Dumbledore's office. And now, Rosmerta, Jenna, I really should take my leave. There's a pot of tea waiting and I don't want it to get too strong."

We said goodbye and the head vanished. I mentally shrugged; if a head didn't burn in the fire when there was plenty of oxygen available, why shouldn't it disappear? Then I turned to Madam Rosmerta, who looked a little uncomfortable.

"I actually came down here to find out if you could change some pounds for galleons for me?"

She looked relieved that I wasn't going to drag out the spying issue. It was obvious to me that Mr Dumbledore had asked her to report on strangers and she, for whatever reason, obliged him.

"Certainly; how much would you like?"

"Well, I'd like five galleons, but can one be in sickles please?"

She made her way over to the counter.

"would you like one of the sickles in knuts as well?"

I nodded and she pulled out some coins from behind the counter. Putting them in a little bag, she handed them to me.

I thanked her, gave her the appropriate amount of pounds, took the bag and returned to my room.

Once up there, I emptied the bag onto my bed. There were three types of coin. Four were large and gold; they had to be the galleons. My guess was confirmed by the ornate G on one side of each coin. I turned to the other coins. Sixteen of those were silver- these turned out to be sickles - and were a little smaller than the galleons. Remaining were twenty-nine little bronze coins.

So there were twenty-nine knuts to the sickle and seventeen sickles to the galleon.

What on earth had happened to numbers that fitted nicely with a counting system based on ten? And why were they only coins? After carrying that little bag upstairs, I had a newly developed appreciation of paper money.

I decided to leave it for the day and work some more on my sketch for Tom.

***

That evening I ate dinner in my room again. Madam Rosmerta brought it up, apologising for the events of the afternoon.

"That's alright; I realise you didn't have much choice and that there's probably some justification for Mr Dumbledore's decision. Anyway, let's leave that; what towns are near here and what are the best ways to get to them?"

Madam Rosmerta thought for a minute.

"It depends. There are one or two quite close but they're not that big. Newcastle upon Tyne is the closest one of a decent size, I think. And if you floo - I take it you can't apparate yet?" 

I shook my head and she continued.

"Well, there's a floo outlet in the town - comes out in a cafe, serves the same purpose as the Leaky Cauldron, only without Diagon Alley of course. Floo and distance won't be a problem."

I thanked her and she left. After her departure I checked my map; Newcastle upon Tyne was there, up in the north of England. I'd checked before for Hogsmeade, but it hadn't appeared anywhere. Since this other town was on the map, I decided that it was probably a normal town - or at least, a town that used electricity for lights.

I decided to go swimming in the lake tomorrow morning, early - it would be cold, but that's never bothered me before and I was longing for a good swim. Near the rocks the water had looked quite deep, and the bottom had been sandy for quite a way out from them. After that I would return to Hogsmeade, have my breakfast and go to Newcastle upon Tyne. The problem of what floo was I would deal with when it came up.

****

Author's Note: My chapters seem to be getting considerably longer. Oops. I'll blame that on Brightbear, the same one who is to blame for me writing fanfic in the first place. She's a very influential girl, that one. Anyway, credit where credit is due:

"_Holier-than-thou attitude"_ is taken from Asterix in Switzerland (yes, I like Asterix. So shoot me, unless of course you want more updates.) The complete sentence: _Who do these gods think they are, with their holier-than-thou attitude?_

"Give me your name, boy, and I shall give you mine" is adapted from the movie of the Two Towers. Substitute "horsemaster" for "boy" and you have what Gimli says to Eomer. 

Little aside:

The galleon-pound exchange rate: for one thing, this would exist. How else would Muggle-borns get wizard money? Not everyone inherits a nice full vault. The exchange rate I figured from the price Tom gave Jenna way back in the beginning. There were a few changes to the prices charged at the Three Broomsticks; the ones cited in this chapter are correct as of 16/2/03, and chapter four has been changed to suit. I would have figured the exchange rate from the prices on _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ or the other little one, except I don't have a copy of either. When I get my hands on one of them the whole lot may change again, but at least then I can claim to be using the correct rate!

Reviews:

If you do review (please do, you have no idea how nice it is to know that people like my story enough for it to be worth the effort of clicking a button and tapping a few keys) please leave an email address. Especially if you give nice, long, helpful reviews. I'll post some replies up here, but I'd like to be able to send replies to the reviewer as well, so I know they'll get them. Probably because I'm used to the Elfwood system. (If you don't know what Elfwood is, go a href='elfwood.lysator.liu.se'here/a [hope the link works])

Lils: thanks, ego boosts are always, always welcome!

HoneyB: thankyou, I may well take you up on that offer as I've never been to the UK.

Fomhar Fyre: certainly I'll email you when updates arrive *clicks send button* If anyone else wants me to do this for them to, let me know in a review - and include the email you want it sent to!

Elfmoon87: I'm not sure if there are any other Australian Muggles wandering in the fanfiction, but I've come across an Aussie wizard/witch or two and yes, frequently the accent was written in.** ***shudder* As well as all the supposed colloquialisms. We're not really that different from anyone else!

Violet Aries: I might try that suggestion in the next chapter. And it's nice to know you like the style this is written in, it's a bit different from how I normally write.

The person who explained the basics of British schooling (sorry, having problems with the computer and I can't get your name at the moment): That explains a whole lot more than it doesn't. We technically start school when we're four, but we call that kindergarten. At five we go to pre-primary, then primary starts in year one when we're six and goes through to year seven (age 12). High school is years 8-12. Some schools have a middle school *shrugs in ignorance as I didn't go to one of those* and at least one does a year 13, but most of us finish when we're 17. It's different in other states; some start primary at age 5, others finish primary in year 6 and some work in trimesters rather than four terms and two semesters. Australian standard? What Australian standard?

Thankyou all! 


	9. Someday

****

Chapter 7: Someday

The next morning I woke up early for my swim. My alarm had been set for five AM and outside it was just getting light. I changed into my bathers and pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt. I threw a warm jumper into my bag, as well as my towel; I thoroughly expected the water to be freezing. Invigorating, at least.

I padded downstairs in socked feet so that I didn't wake up any sleepers. I could just imagine how impressed they'd be at being woken up before the sun had properly risen.

I pulled my boots on at the bottom of the stairs and then made my way to the door. It was cold outside and I was glad I had my jumper for later. Hogsmeade was deserted; it reminded me of when I had first arrived in the street, except it was in the grey semi-light of false dawn rather than the flickering yellow-orange light of flame.

I started up to the castle, enjoying the cold air against my exercise-warmed skin. Eventually I reached the top; the gates were open, as they had been yesterday. I wondered why, then thought that maybe they were simply too much effort to close for the night. The gates were large, made of wood bound in iron. If they were closed, the castle would be in complete isolation until they were opened again. The walls were very high, too high to climb just to get in or out of the castle unless it was a serious emergency.

Making my way over to the rocks I had clambered over the other day, I could hear shouting in the distance. It sounded like a sports practice of some sort; it was now half past five, so that didn't sound too unreasonable. The rowers at school had started at five-thirty and _that_ had been during winter, when it didn't start getting light until close to seven. I heard several stories of the freezing sand - not the water, apparently that was comparatively warm. From what I knew from my own early morning swims, I could well believe that, but I only went during summer. During winter, I felt, it was just pure insanity.

Sitting down on a conveniently sized rock, I pulled off my shoes and socks. The rocks were surrounded on this side by one of those small strips of sand. The bottom remained sandy for a large space around the rocks and I had decided to stick to this area; I love duck diving and wriggling around and generally spending a lot of my time underwater and it was definitely preferable if there was no weed to interfere.

Putting my feet down on the sand - which was very cold - I stripped off my jeans and shirt. My shoulder-blade length hair was out; I find it easier to deal with later if it isn't tied up while I swim. That way, at least, there are no hair ties involved in the tangles.

Finally I left my towel on a rock and made my way to the water. I prefer to dive straight in, but no way was I doing that until I knew how deep it actually was near the rocks that were further out in the water. It isn't possible to have seven years - more than seven, actually - of compulsory swimming lessons and _not_ pick up at least a few bits of water sense.

The water was, as expected, very cold. I waded straight in and dived under as soon as it was deep enough. It was somewhat hard to breathe from the shock, but experience has taught me to keep moving until my body adjusts. I see no point in shivering on the edge; if you're going in, you're going in and you may as well not waste good swimming time.

I was getting used to the water now. I dove under and swam, keeping my eyes open. There was no reason not to; it was a freshwater lake, with no chlorine and no salt to irritate the eyes. The water was deep and clear, here at least. I did somersaults and rolls, corkscrews and handstands, loving the freedom the water gave. I wondered if this was how birds felt when they flew; no fear of falling and it didn't matter how deep the water was, because you only used as much as you wanted. In fact my main objections are when the water is too shallow. I did some dives off the rocks as well, as the water there was quite a bit deeper than I was tall. Finally I just floated on my back, watching the clouds as they drifted overhead.

I stayed until I started to fell the beginnings of hunger, then I did some lengths of the sandy area - freestyle and breastroke. I never learned butterfly and I dislike backstroke because you can't see where you're going. Freestyle was the first thing I learned; I taught it to myself, swimming between my parents in the river near our house.

Eventually I emerged, dripping water everywhere. I went to get my towel, then paused.

Draco Malfoy was sitting on the rock next to my towel. He was dressed in green robes this time, robes that looked like they permitted a lot more movement than the black ones he had worn the day before.

I bent done, snagged my towel and started drying myself.

"Good morning," he said.

Apparently he did have manners.

"Morning," I replied. "What are you doing here? I didn't think anyone would be up."

"Most aren't. They're enjoying their beauty rest. I had practise. When I saw someone in the lake I decided to check up on them; a lot of students here can't swim, or not very well." He gave a small, self-depreciating smile. "I'm one of the latter, although I noticed you don't have that problem."

I grinned.

"I told you I live in Australia. Water and swimming are part of our life. Swimming lessons are compulsory in primary school, then in high school we had swimming for PE twice a week during summer terms until the end of year ten. A lot of it was laps, but we did a life saving course as well. And after swimming at the beach in rather high waves this," I gestured to the flat lake "is not an issue."

He smiled a little; like the day before, it was only a small, half-smile. I wondered if he ever let go enough to smile fully or laugh. It didn't seem like it.

"I just can't really comprehend that anyone wouldn't know how to swim by the age of twelve," I continued. "I know it happens - we had students from overseas who didn't know how - but it just seem so I don't know, like not knowing how to run or something."

I decided to change topic then and ask him about something else I was interested in.

"Are there any good walking trails in that forest? I - "

I was cut off by the expression on his face. He had paled a little and seemed a little afraid.

"Don't go in there!"

I blinked, surprised at his vehemence.

"It's the Forbidden Forest, and it's called that for a reason!"

I shrugged and sat down beside him, pulling on my t-shirt.

"Alright then. Have you ever been in?"

"Once. It was for detention, in first year, at night. I don't want to go back in, _ever_."

He'd obviously seen something bad in there. And to someone as young as the kids I'd seen on the rain, in the dark... No wonder he'd sounded a little scared.

I looked at the forest. Tall, dark trees rustled a little, despite there being no breeze, but I still didn't see it as threatening.

"Doesn't anyone ever go in? It seems such a pity, that no-one should learn any of the beauty that may be contained in there."

"A few. Fred and George Weaseley do, but everyone knows there insane. And they never get caught at it, so they don't get in trouble from the teachers over it. The trio from Gryffindor - Potty, Weasel and the Mudblood. And they never get in trouble for it either."

"Who?" I asked.

"Potter, Weaseley and Granger." 

He looked at me as if that should explain everything.

"I don't go to this school," I reminded him. "Who?"

"Ron Weaseley is one of Fred and George's brothers. He's not good at much, except playing chess." 

Draco looked as if admitting Ron Weaseley could do anything was anathema to him and not something he intended to do again any time soon.

"Hermione Granger is top of every class she's in. Got three hundred and something percent in an exam once."

"How's that possible?" I interrupted. I thought that one hundred was as high as percentages went in marks.

He shrugged.

"No one said our teachers were normal. They're brilliant, most of them, but quite strange sometimes. Anyway, those two don't really start anything, they just tag along. Harry Potter is the one who starts them, and like the school's going to expel him." 

He sounded somewhat bitter about this, but I was too preoccupied to notice much. That little niggle I'd noticed the morning before had just developed into a full-blown realisation and it felt rather like I'd knocked my head on one of the rocks. And, true to prediction, I was wondering how I could have missed anything so obvious.

"Did you say Harry Potter?" I asked.

"Yes, actually I did. Yes, he goes to this school, yes he has the scar and"

I waved a hand at him and asked him to be quiet for a little.

The little niggle had been the names Harry, Ron and Hermione together. I'd heard my sister and my friends talk about them frequently.

Ms. J. K. Rowling, it seemed, had hoodwinked the entire world, telling a truth hidden behind the facade of fiction while the critics acclaimed her as a wonderful writer with an incredible imagination. Never once had anyone suspected the truth, or if they had, it seemed so preposterous that they had dismissed the notion.

I stood up and moved over to the grass, cleaning my feet of sand before I pulled on my jeans. My bathers were merely damp now.

"I have to go," I said to Draco. "I haven't had breakfast yet and if I don't I suspect I'll start trying to eat the grass!"

He looked at me.

"Why don't you have breakfast here? There's not exactly a shortage of food."

I shook my head.

"I can't today, I'm going out straight after breakfast. I'll be up here again tomorrow though; can I come then?"

"Sure," he said. He'd seemed disappointed when I'd said I couldn't this morning, although it was hard to tell as he hid his emotions quite well. Still, he'd brightened a little when I suggested tomorrow.

I wondered why, then I remembered how he'd been yesterday. Brash, rude, arrogant - quite different from today. And he barely ever even gave the small half-smile. I wondered if he had any friends in this school. Boarding would be very lonely without any; I had been lucky to have good friends when I was at school.

I pulled on my shoes and socks and my jumper. My towel I left around my neck to absorb some of the water from my hair. I said goodbye to Draco and headed towards the gates and down the hill for breakfast.

***

After a showering and getting changed, I decided to eat breakfast downstairs. That was an experience in itself.

Breakfast was served in a similar fashion to the day before. Today it was a thick, creamy porridge; I didn't mind, as I've always rather liked the stuff. There was fruit as well, as there had been the day before, and a bowl of nuts as well. These I put in the porridge, with a little of the honey. All the tea things were there again, the only difference being that they only gave me Earl Grey today, which was what I'd had yesterday. Whoever took the tray had been observant.

There were a few other people eating breakfast as well; some of them were reading _The Daily Prophet_, which I guessed was the paper in this place.

At one end of the room was a fireplace and it was what made breakfast interesting. I had had a few spoonfuls of my porridge when it startled rattling. Then it shone a bright green and a person stepped out, a little unsteadily. I think my eyes were as wide as dinner plates. First heads disappeared, now entire bodies appeared, and all in fireplaces.

"Dedalus! How good to see you! Here's the brush."

Madam Rosmerta had come up to the man who had stepped out and handed him a brush. He used this to beat his clothes, sending up small puffs of soot.

"Usual for breakfast?"

"Yes, thanks, and if I could have a cup of tea first - I really don't like floo travel."

I paid attention at that. Floo was what I had to use, and I needed to know what it was.

"Well, if you hadn't gone and apparated where you shouldn't and had your license suspended you wouldn't have to use it."

With that Madam Rosmerta bustled off to the kitchen, soon bringing back a tray of tea things.

The fireplace rattled a few more times and each time the person who stepped out looked a little the worse for wear. Some looked downright nauseous and I assumed that they were the ones who were susceptible to motion sickness.

Finally I saw one wizard who had finished both breakfast and the paper. He took a handful of something from the left-most pot on the mantelpiece; I was taking notice because I figured I'd have to do this soon. He opened his hand, letting whatever he held fall, and said as he did so "Diagon Alley." The fireplace flashed that bright green and he vanished.

While I sat there trying to absorb this phenomenon during breakfast, several other people stepped up to the fireplace. Each time they did the same as the first man, save that what they said changed. However, all of them spoke clearly. That, it seemed, was an essential, and I just hoped that accent wouldn't be an issue.

Eventually I finished breakfast and headed upstairs to put what I needed in my bag. Water wallet, and camera, but for once not the sketchbook. I was going to be buying the entire Harry Potter series so far if I could get my hands on it, and I knew how thick the fourth book was. I suspected I was going to need all the room I could spare.

I made my way downstairs again and towards the fireplace, stopping to speak with Madam Rosmerta.

"Oh, you're going? Just say Newhaven upon Tyne. And to return it's the Three Broomsticks. Floo powder's in the left-most pot on the mantelpiece - don't worry about paying, it's already included in the room bill."

"Sounds easy enough," I said. "Just one thing - will accent be a problem?"

She thought for a minute.

"No, I don't think so; you don't really have a strong one. You don't speak quite the same as us, but you're not that different either. Just speak clearly, you should be fine."

I thanked her and went to the fireplace. The powder was glittering, shimmery stuff, coloured green and ground quite fine. I took a handful and stepped into the fireplace as I had seen the others do. Opening my hand and letting the powder fall in a fine cloud about my legs and feet, I called out "Newhaven upon Tyne," resisting the urge to cough halfway through.

The Three Broomsticks and everything began to spin and whirl, glimpses of half-seen rooms flash by. I didn't feel sick - motion sickness has never been a problem for me - but I did feel incredibly dizzy. I couldn't feel anything under my feet, and it was impossible to tell if I was the one spinning or everything else was. I kept a tight hold of my bag, not wanting it to go flying off into some random room.

Finally the spinning stopped, as suddenly as it had started, and I fell out of a fireplace, landing on my knees. I could understand now why the others had looked so unsteady when they emerged from the fireplaces.

"Hello dear - here's the brush."

A woman handed me a brush as I stood up and I beat the soot off my clothes. I hadn't been wearing robes, so there wasn't as much as had come off Dedalus. Then I looked around me. I was in a small cafe, which, like the Three Broomsticks and the Leaky Cauldron, wasn't lit by electricity.

"Welcome to the Witch's Brew!"

That was the woman who'd handed me the brush.

"Umm hello. Could you tell me what street this is on so I can find it when I come back?"

The woman told me and I left the store. Crossing to the other side of the street, I turned and looked back to see what was on either side of it so I'd be able to find it again. On one side was a bookshop, on the other a record store. I frowned thoughtfully.

The Leaky Cauldron had also had a bookshop on one side and a record store on the other. I wondered if all these little places had the same thing on each side, to serve as a sort of signal to the people of the other world.

Shrugging, I went into the bookstore to hunt up the Harry Potter books. They had copies of all four, so I bought the lot. Someday had arrived; Jenna Curlew was going to read the Harry Potter books.

Then I asked for the nearest internet cafe and proceeded onward to the email. My sister and friends had all sent replies, my sister's being full of thanks for the book. I had sent it airmail, wanting her to get it as soon as she could.

After writing a email to my family, apologising that I couldn't ring because there was no phone where I was staying, I left and went back to the Witch's Brew. I had an iced chocolate before returning to the Three Broomsticks. The floo was slightly less disconcerting the second time, but I still landed on my knees at the other end. Rubbing them ruefully, I stood up and accepted the brush from Madam Rosmerta.

"I am never going to get used to that," I said, handing the brush back.

"Oh you will, give it a little while!"

I took a lunch tray and headed upstairs. Settling myself in a large armchair with a sandwich in one hand, I began to study the only known textbooks for the Harry Potter world.

***

****

Author's note: Well, she had to find out sooner or later. Any of my friends who haven't read Harry Potter probably would have worked it out by now if it had been them, just from listening to the rest of us talking.

The accent and floo thing: Something I thought of while reading CoS. You have to speak clearly for floo. Harry only sputtered a little and look what happened to him. (And in the movie he just mushed all the words together into "diagonelly.") So wouldn't the fireplaces be sort of attuned to the British accent? What would happen to someone with a distinctive accent from somewhere else? Say New Zealand, where the difference between sip and sup is almost negligible?


	10. Afternoon Tea in a Castle

****

Chapter 8: Afternoon Tea

In the end I only read the first four chapters of Philosopher's Stone that day. Those I read while eating lunch, holding a sandwich - curried egg on thick home-made bread - in one hand and using the other to flip the pages. When I finished with eating however, I glanced out the window and thought that the weather was simply too nice for me to spend the afternoon indoors. So I decided to resume my explorations of Hogsmeade. I also decided to take my sketch up to the castle - no matter that I knew it was a school, I still though of it as the castle - for Mr. Dumbledore to look at. I hadn't taken it that morning because I figured it would have been a bit early. Before I left I hid the books underneath some clothes in the wardrobe; I had no idea whether or not the Harry Potter books were known in this world and I didn't want to find out the hard way that they weren't.

This time I went into some of the shops, since I had some useful money. Hogsmeade was still reasonably busy; it hadn't lapsed into that early-afternoon sleepiness that I remember finding in a lot of small towns at home. As I stopped to open the door into Honeydukes, I could just detect the faint scent of chocolate.

Once inside I stopped from sheer amazement. In the centre of the store was a fountain... with melted chocolate instead of water. Chocolate poured from a tilted cauldron and fell into a pool below, frothing and splashing a little. What had left me standing like a moron in the doorway was that the cauldron was completely unsupported. It just floated in mid-air as the chocolate fell from it.

Quite aside from the anti-gravity thing, why didn't the cauldron run out of chocolate? There was no way for the chocolate in the pool to reach the cauldron.

A gong sounded softly as I finally let the door close behind me and a person straightened from behind the counter at the back of the shop. My face must have reflected my thoughts, because he chuckled a little.

"Impressive, isn't it? Took forever to get the charms to circulate the chocolate right, we only just got it working properly this morning."

Oh, right. Magic. Of course cauldrons could hover in mid-air and chocolate circulate from pool to cauldron without pipes.

"Er... yes, very impressive. Are you planning on selling it? The chocolate, to drink, I mean?"

I was just speaking to try and hide my shock at being presented with something that was so blatantly magical, but as I did so I recognised where the idea came from. The little waterfall - or chocolatefall, really - reminded me of Willy Wonka and how he mixed chocolate using a waterfall, giving a cup of the liquid chocolate to Charlie to drink. And maybe whoever had been with him as well; it had been a long time since I had read the book.

The man just stared at me.

"Of course, it might be a bit rich... maybe if you mixed it half and half with heated milk, probably be the best hot chocolate ever-" Suddenly I realised I was babbling and stopped talking.

"That," the man declared, "sounds like a brilliant idea. Why didn't I think of that?"

I didn't answer, recognising a rhetorical question even in my currently slightly stunned state. He disappeared briefly behind the counter, re-emerging with two small cups. He came out from behind the counter and tilted his head on one side as he looked at me.

"Now, where would you suggest we fill these up?"

"Umm... the bottom of the fall there? Be frothier that way."

"Yes, I agree. Would you like to try first?"

I leaned carefully over the edge of the pool, holding my cup under the flow of chocolate. The man followed suit once my cup was full and for the first time I actually managed to register what he looked like. Evidently I was recovering from my earlier shock.

He was middle aged with hair that was starting to go grey at the temples. Medium height, for a man; he was just a little taller than me. Like every adult I had seen in this town, he wore robes. His were a light brown colour that reminded of nothing so much as fudge.

"To the best hot chocolate ever!" He raised his cup in a toast and I followed suit before taking a sip.

It was even better than I'd imagined it would be; hot, thick, frothy pure chocolate - most definitely the best hot chocolate I had ever tasted. Rich too; I was glad the cups were only small.

The man seemed to have had the same reaction I had, as he was looking at the fountain with an awed expression on his face.

"I could charge a galleon for half a glass and still never be able to serve it fast enough!" he muttered. Then he turned to me.

"I am eternally in your debt; Terrance Honeyduke, at your service."

He gave a sweeping bow, very overdone, and I couldn't help laughing.

"Jenna Curlew," I said, and curtsied. It seemed an appropriate response to his bow, although it probably looked a little odd given that I wasn't wearing a skirt. "Think nothing of it, I can't really claim all credit for the idea anyway. I read about something similar in a book once."

Terrance Honeyduke grinned.

"Maybe, but you managed to remember it in the right place at the right time. Here," he stepped behind the counter again and pulled out a small, flat package wrapped in gold paper and handed it to me. "Honeydukes finest, I only sell it to a select few. Least I can do in thanks. Unless you have any other brilliant memories from books?"

"No, not really. Thanks for this, although I doubt it will last long!"

The only other thing I remembered from the book was chewing gum favoured like a three course dinner and I didn't think tomato soup would be an appropriate flavour in a sweet shop. Although considering that there was a label on thereading "Cockroach Clusters", tomato soup might have been an improvement.

I turned to look at the rest of the shop. Half of it was devoted to chocolate, caramel, toffee and fudge. The other side contained every other type of confectionary imaginable and then some. I wandered over to this side of the store.

Nothing on the shelves was familiar, although a few had familiar names. Sugar quills looked identical to the real thing and came in a variety of shapes, sizes, colours and, presumably, flavours. I wondered what it would feel like if I brushed one with my fingers but didn't try to find out. They were each and every one of them a confectioner's work of art and I didn't want to destroy them.

A jar with condensation on its sides was labelled "Ice Mice" in ornate calligraphy. The mice themselves were completely transparent, although they remained inanimate, unlike the Jelly frogs nest to them.

The Fizzing Whizbees I guessed to be sherbets of some description. I didn't want to think what the "Whiz" part of the name might refer to; names in this shop seemed to be very literal. As I turned to locate the source of a faint humming noise, this observation was re-affirmed; Humbugs, it seemed, were no longer round and generally cylindrical. In a jar on the bottom shelf were some incredibly realistic, though still, ladybirds. I knelt to look at some fine print on their label and read that Humbugs came in a variety of preset tunes, but for just eight sickles extra you could custom-record them to whatever tune you wished.

Literal names indeed. I left Honeydukes with a quick goodbye to Terrance and a promise to let him know of any other ideas, book-inspired or otherwise.

I continued down the street, bypassing Zonko's; I had never been much of a person for practical jokes and I had no reason to become interested now. Gladrags Wizardwear I also gave a miss as I had no wish to start wearing robes.

Dervish and Bang's, however, looked like it might be interesting. There was nothing on the outside of the shop to suggest what might be on the inside, so I pushed the door open to find out.

If Honeydukes was a six-year-old's heaven, Dervish and Bang's was mine. The shop smelt of paper, ink and leather, which, when I looked around, was no surprise. Like Honeydukes, this store was divided into halves; one side contained shelves and shelves of books, the other had stationary. Not things like biros and gel pens, but quills, inks, nibs and other old-fashioned things. Abnormally for me, I completely ignored the books, choosing instead to investigate the paper and inks. The paper was strange, heavier than the standard 80gsm used by photocopiers, and also had an odd texture. It reminded of the "parchment" cardboard that I'd seen in stores, but it wasn't quite like that either. The other odd thing was that it was sold in rolls; the only other paper I've ever seen sold like that is fax paper.

The inks came in little glass bottles and there was a variety of colours, from the fairly standard black, blue, red and green to "Rainbow: changes colour even as you write!" Further along was a collection of nibs, silver, gold, copperplate, italic, shadow - this place was a calligraphy writer's dream. Next to the nib selection were things to care for the nibs - "Helen's Nib Cleaner - guaranteed to make your nib write better than ever", "Sparkle Bright Nib Polish" and "Nib Sharpener - Perfect Every Time" were what some of the labels proclaimed. There were other products as well, including a nib engraver ("make your nibs unique") and _The Complete Charms for Nibs - New Edition._

I decided to leave the store for the time being; I could have happily spent the rest of the day there (even without investigating the books) but I did want to get up to the castle to see Mr Dumbledore and I felt it would be polite not to arrive in the middle of dinner.

I set off up the hill for the third time in two days. This time, instead of turning to the lake once I passed through the gates, I kept following the path to the front doors. Like the castle gates they were made of thick, iron-bound wood; fortunately one was partly open, as I doubt I could have moved them.

I had assumed that Hogwarts would be like all the schools I had ever seen before in that it would have an easy-to-locate reception. I was wrong.

The foyer behind the doors was impressive. High ceilings lent a sense of space to the medium sized room. Two banners were on each of the side walls, while a shield hung off the back wall. In the centre of the shield was an H, which was surrounded by a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake. Or possibly it was a serpent. Underneath the shield a cloth hung in a semicircle, carefully arranged so that the writing on it was clearly visible: _Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus_.

The school crest, I guessed, and the words would be the school motto. I had no idea what the words translated to; that "Domine" was "Lord" was the extent of my Latin.

I heard the sound of trickling water and turned to find where it came from. In a corner was a small fountain, hidden behind the open door. Water fell from a badger's mouth and into a small basin. A simple stone plaque on the wall read "Cedric Diggory, In Memoriam." I bowed my head for a moment in respect, then dropped a silver coin in the basin. There were no other coins there, but it seemed appropriate, somehow.

Turning away from the basin, I glanced again around the room, but it still lacked any signs pointing the way to reception or administration. There were several doors in the walls - including another double set below the shield that looked almost as intimidating as the front ones - and I decided to go through the glass ones in the far corner. I could see a hallway extending behind them and hallways, I thought, often had offices along them. Maybe I'd find a door labelled "Reception." Or maybe "Administration." Or even, if Lady Luck was feeling generous towards me today, "Mr Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster."

The hallway was light, with windows at frequent intervals down one side. Pillars ran down the same side, with the occasional statue, bust or suit of armour between them. The wall on the other side was home to several portraits and yes, there were doors from time to time. Normally I would have paused to take a closer look at the paintings but this time I just walked quickly down the hall, checking doors for signs out of the corner of my eye as I passed by. Soon enough I reached the end of the corridor, having been entirely unsuccessful in achieving my aim. In front of me was a set of stair and another hallway extended away on one side.

"You'd think they'd have some directions for visitors," I muttered as I stood there wondering whether to go up, down or to the right.

"Were you looking for someone?"

"Who-?"

Shocked -I had been sure the hallway was empty - I spun around to face whoever had spoken. Behind me - or rather, in front of me, now that I had turned - stood a woman dressed in emerald green robes.

"I asked what you were muttering about. You seem a little lost - and why aren't you wearing your robes?"

"I was looking for the headmaster's office," I said, my tongue and mouth moving on auto-pilot.

"Perhaps I could help you? I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts."

I looked at her, unable to shake off a sense of familiarity. Those robes... oh. I'd nearly crashed into outside the Leaky Cauldron the day before I ended up in this world. I inwardly cringed when I realised this and hoped she didn't remember me.

"I'm Jenna Curlew, and if you could show me where the headmaster's office is, I would greatly apperciate it."

"Oh yes, and why would the girl who nearly ran into me the other day want to see the headmaster?"

There went that hope. This woman was probably a very effective deputy; I hadn't done anything wrong - I wasn't even a student here! - and already I felt like I should be apologising profusely and thinking up plausible excuses.

"He asked to see me, actually. Or to be more accurate he asked to see my sketches next time I was up here." 

"Hmm, yes, that does sound rather like what he would do. Where are you from?"

"Western Australia. I've been travelling for the past couple of months."

"Oh? You don't have an Australian accent." She started walking as she spoke.

"So I've been told before," I replied dryly. I followed her, neither of us talking anymore, through several hallways, up and down stairs, until I was quite thoroughly lost .

After a time I saw her pause by a stone gargoyle in the middle of a corridor. As I quickened my pace to catch up, the gargoyle slid aside to reveal yet another staircase. 

__

There are way too many of these things here, I thought as I started up them.

"Ah, Minerva, I see you brought my guest up. Very kind of you, I must say. Now, I believe that Fred and George Weasley are trying to acquire one of the toilet seats from the second floor bathrooms and while their efforts are commendable and certainly ingenious, I would rather that the seat stayed attached to the toilet..." Albus Dumbledore trailed off, having no need to say anything else. Minerva McGonagall had given him a brief nod and had disappeared down the steps as soon as she knew where the trouble was.

"Very good, that woman; I do like to give the Weasley twins a challenge from time to time." He smiled down at me; I had stopped, three-quarters of the way up the stairs, when he had started speaking. "Do come in. Would you like a cup of tea? And maybe some lemon drops?"

I walked up the rest of the stairs and followed him into his office.

***

Mr Dmbledore's office was nothing like I expected. For one thing, it was round. Which made sense when I thought about it, as it was probably in one of the towers. It was also cluttered, but not with the usual stuff one might expect in the office of a headmaster. In the normal world, there would be a metal filing cabinet or two, a computer on the desk, a couple of biros scattered around. Nearly all the paper would be A4 and sterile white in colour.

There was no computer on Mr Dumbledore's desk; instead, there was a inkwell with a quill in a stand beside it and a couple of rolls of that funny yellowy paper I had seen in Dervish and Bang's. There was also a strange spinning top, made of glass; strange because it was spinning by itself and didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. The desk itself was made from dark wood and was decorated with carvings. Behind the desk was a perch for a bird, with a shallow dish of what looked like ashes beneath it. There were shelves all around, filled with books, quills and all sorts of strange things that I couldn't even begin to identify.

Mr Dumbledore sat in a large, comfortable-looking armchair behind the desk. I took a similar chair and sat facing him.

"Ah, now, did you want that tea?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr Dumbledore."

He pulled out a long, tapered, slender piece of wood - about the length of my forearm - and murmured something as he waved it. A tray of tea thing appeared, complete with honey, sugar, milk and a dish of lemon drops.

__

A wand, I realised. _That must be his wand._

I tried to keep my expression neutral, as if I saw people conjure teapots everyday, while he set about pouring the tea.

"Actually, it's Professor Dumbledore, but I'd prefer just Albus. You take Earl Grey, don't you? With honey?"

"I knew someone was investigating the breakfast tray," I muttered with a small smile.

"Yes well, it does make things a little more efficient, you must admit. Lemon drop?" He passed me my tea, leaving the lemon drops where they were when I shook my head at the offer of them.

I put my cup down on its saucer, then bent to get my sketchbook from its bag. Straightening, I flipped the pages until I came to the sketch of Hogwarts and passed it to Mr - er, to Albus. I suppose I really should have realised he was a professor after hearing the deputy's title, but I'd been thinking of him as "Mr" and it just didn't click. Besides, I'd been occupied with trying to keep up with Professor McGonagall and not get lost in this maze that passed for a school.

"This is really very good - may I see the others?"

I nodded, sipping my tea and wondering what he was planning. Given the thoroughness of his spy network, I highly doubted that he had wanted to see me again just to view my sketches. That, I felt, had just been a convenient excuse.

I was nearly to the bottom of my cup when he finally looked up.

"Miss Curlew-"

"Jenna," I interrupted. "Please. No one's ever called me Miss Curlew in my life."

"Really? How odd... Well, Jenna, all your work is excellent. However - "

__

Maybe now we'll get into the real reason why you asked me here, I thought.

"- I find it curious that you have left all your pictures still. With a couple of them I can see how that would add to the effect, but I'm sure they would all do very well with the Life Charm."

I stared, utterly confused. Left them still? Life Charm? What on earth was he on about?

"Ah, yes, I thought so," he murmured at my blatantly obvious confusion. "Tell me, how did a Muggle come to be in Hogsmeade?"

I continued staring blankly.

"A non-Wizard," he explained. "Or a non-Witch, as the case may be."

"Well," I said, "It's a bit of a long story, but if you've got time..." He nodded, so I continued. "But you know, you could have just asked me and I would have told you. You didn't have to go through the thing with the sketchbook."

"Maybe, but it confirmed things for me and besides, I did want to see your sketch of Hogwarts."

I raised my eyebrows a little but decided not to push the point. Instead I began to tell Albus how I had managed to find myself in Hogsmeade.


	11. Yours, Peeves

****

Chapter 9: Yours, Peeves.


	12. History 101

**Chapter 10:  History 101**

Draco, once again, recovered first.  Like a cat, he managed to look as if his fur had never been ruffled in the first place.  Hermione, however, spoke before he even had a chance to open his mouth.

"You can't be a Muggle, Muggles can't see Hogwarts, it says so in Hogw-"

"Yes, well, we'll just ask her to close her eyes while we figure out how, once again, the bumbling idiots that run this school have stuffed up, shall we?  I should have guessed," Draco added, turning to face me "when you started defending _her_.  Like calls to like, after all."

The "her" was obviously Hermione; the little gesture he made with his head left no doubt.

"Hermione's a better witch than you'll ever be, no matter how long your pedigree is."

"Seeing as how I have no desire to ever be a witch, that doesn't really say much, does it, Weasel?"

Ron's face had until then been returning to a more normal shade, but that was evidently only a temporary thing; he was rapidly turning red again.

"Is it true then?"

That was Harry, the first of them to say something sensible.

"Yes."

I stood facing the four of them.  Harry, Ron and Hermione were in a group and Draco was off to one side, clearly defining a separation between him and them.

"Not even ashamed to admit it," he said, sounding quite thoroughly disgusted. "Uncultured, uncivilised barbarian -"

"Excuse me? Using torches -" I gestured to the sconce on the wall beside me " – is supposed to be civilised?"

"It's easy to put down what you don't know, Ferret, but be prepared to be lost for comebacks.  I believe he was showing you to the front doors, Jenna?  Come on, then."

Hermione took my elbow in one hand and grabbed Ron's arm with the other, apparently not trusting him not to start another fight.  Given the current colour of his face, I thought that was a very wise decision on her part.

"Surprised to find the Muggles are human, Malfoy?"

I turned my head, catching a glimpse of the glare that Draco shot at Harry as Hermione forcibly dragged Ron down the hallway, pulling me along as well.

"Go run along with you little friends, Hero-boy, you couldn't be any more contaminated by association that you already are, given what your mother was."

"Hermione, let me go, did you hear what he just said to Harry?"

"Yes I did and a fight is not the answer!"

Wholeheartedly agreeing with her, I grabbed Ron's other arm to help her prevent another outbreak of violence.  She gave me a grateful smile as between us we dragged Ron further away from Draco and Harry.

"If it's contamination by association, I be worried, Malfoy.  Doubt your Slytherin cronies would be too impressed to find that you'd brought a Muggle into their midst.  You seemed quite friendly from where I sat."

I didn't hear Draco's reply, if there was on, only two sets of footsteps; one lot crisply tapping away from us at a quick walk, the other coming towards us at a slow jog with the dull thud of old sneakers.

"So you really are a Muggle then?" Harry asked once he'd caught up with us.

"I said I was, didn't I?  And it doesn't seem like something you'd admit to if you weren't, judging by Draco's reaction."

"I stuffed up again then, didn't I?  Damn.  Here I was thinking I'd managed to go a whole week without doing something wrong."

"Oh well, can't ruin your reputation now."  Ron rubbed his arm where Hermione grabbed it. "Blimey, you've got a grip, Hermione.  I'll have bruises tomorrow."

"Sorry."

Hermione's apology was somewhat ruined by her expression; she was frowning about something.

"I still don't get how you can see Hogwarts, you're only supposed to see a some ruins and a danger sign, I read it in -"

"- Hogwarts, a History," Harry and Ron interrupted in unison.  "We've heard it before."

"Yes, but it's one of the fundamental wards on the school and if it's broken – did you just walk straight up here, Jenna?"

"Yeah, followed the path up from Hogsmeade.  The first time I came up was the day after I got here."

Hermione mulled that over as we walked along.  When Ron and Harry turned into another corridor, taking me along with them, Hermione continued in the direction we'd been going.

"Hermione?  The doors are this way, remember?"

"What? Oh, you go on, I want to check something in the library.

"Of course," Ron murmured quietly.  "When confident, go to the library.  When in doubt, go to the library.  When in a crisis -"

"I heard that."  Ron hadn't been quiet enough, although I had the idea that that might have been intentional.

"Anyway, you can't go, new rules remember?"

"Oh for... Does that mean I have to be with one of you every time I want to go to the library?  Madam Pince will never let me anywhere near it!"

Hermione swung back into step with us and shortly after we arrived at the foyer.  Harry paused by the fountain.

"Why is there a coin in here?"  he asked.

"I dropped it in." I said.  "It seemed appropriate."

He nodded, a sudden jerk of the head, but didn't move away from the fountain.

"What happened?" I asked quietly, unsure whether or not the subject was taboo but wanting to know nonetheless.  Ron drew in a sharp breath beside me, but didn't say anything.

"He died." 

I waited.

"A bit more than a year ago now.  The first student to die in a war.  This war, anyway."

"We have something we write on all our war memorials." I offered. "'Lest we forget.'  So we always remember that people died to keep us safe and that war isn't glorious.  At least, that's how I think of it."

Harry turned.

"Yeah, something like that."

Ron spoke suddenly, breaking the tension.

"Harry, she can't go down to Hogsmeade alone.  If it's not safe for us it's sure as hell not safe for her."

I blinked.  I hadn't even thought of that.  Neither had either of the others, judging by their expressions.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mr Weasley, for language.  Professor Dumbledore fortunately realised the situation and I will be escorting her back, so you will not be forced to break the rules yet again due to your misguided sense of nobility."

My first impression of the speaker was, to put it quite simply, black.  Black hair, black eyes, black robes and a black cloak that billowed slightly in the convection currents from the torches and the draught from the door.

Harry scowled and looked like he was going to say something that in no way could be considered polite; Hermione noticed and hastily thanked Professor Snape, at the same time digging an elbow into Harry's ribs.  She then started both boys moving out of foyer, saying a quick goodbye to me and something about the library still being open.  The boys both said goodbye over their shoulders as they disappeared around one of the many bends.

"Finished you fond farewells?"

Without waiting for a reply, Professor Snape pushed open one of the heavy front doors and stepped outside. I quickly darted through before it swung to, not wanting to find out the hard way that I couldn't open them. Waiting at the bottom of the steps was one of the horseless carriages that I'd seen at the Hogsmeade station. I hurried down them as best I could; I've always been nervous about going down stairs quickly and Professor Snape, who evidently suffered no similar compunctions, was already halfway down.  
Once inside the carriage, I sat near the door on one of the cushioned bench seats. The carriage jerked as it started to move and we headed down the drive at a swift walking pace. If I hadn't seen the lack of animal for myself I would have sworn that there was a horse out the front pulling us along.  
Despite the deep cushioning on the seats, the ride was not at all comfortable.  We had moved up to a steady trotting pace now and the carriage seemed to be finding the largest cobblestones to jolt over for our enjoyment.  Feeling as though I were being watched, I looked up to find Professor Snape looking at me.  
"Yes?" I asked, when he didn't say anything.  
"You seem uncomfortable."  
Give the man a prize for observation, I thought.  
"I don't normally sit in a vehicle with wooden wheels going over cobblestone roads," I said rather shortly. The events that Peeves had set off hadn't exactly put me in the best of moods.  
"But I had heard that your kind had an equivalent of these – was my information source incorrect?"  
"We have cars, yes. But for one thing our roads are bitumen, not cobblestones.  And cars are much lower to the ground, the wheels are smaller and wider and have tyres on them and the suspension is infinitely better."  
He didn't say anything in reply, which was probably just as well; inwardly I was seething over the way he'd said "your kind" – as if I were a member of some inferior subhuman species.  I leaned back against the seat and held my hands pressed between my knees to try and keep them warm.  It was cold in the carriage; evidently heating had flown out the door with decent suspension.   Wizards certainly didn't seem to care much for passenger comfort, something that contrasted oddly with the sumptuousness of the dinner I had just been to and, if I was to be honest with myself, with all of the wizarding world I had seen so far.  Everything had a certain element of accustomed luxury to it, as if feasts for dinner and four-poster beds to sleep in were nothing special.

Through the small carriage window, I could see the clouds that not so long ago had been burnished by the setting sun and were now outlined in ghostly silver, illuminated by the half-moon that occasionally slipped out of hiding.  A howl sounded through the night and I glanced uneasily towards where the forest would be, hidden behind castle walls.  I shivered, and not just from cold.

After about a quarter of an hour I felt the carriage begin to slow down.  The strange lights of Hogsmeade were passing by the window now, as we continued down the main street.  I opened the door as the carriage stopped, picking up my bag with my other hand.

"Thankyou, Professor Snape."

For a moment there was silence.  Then, as I was about to close the door – 

"I would advise, Miss Curlew, that in future you are less defensive of Muggle devices.  People may draw conclusions that could be hazardous to your health."

I paused.

"I'll think about it," I said, and finished shutting the door, deliberately not slamming it, much as I would have liked to.

The warmth of the Leaky Cauldron washed over me as I walked through the doorway.  Madam Rosmerta waved at me from across the room where she was serving a couple of patrons.  I waved back and made my way across the room; she was enroute to the staircase, so I stopped to say hello as I passed her.

"Hello dear, Albus told me you'd had dinner at the school.  You look absolutely frozen, not used to the nights here yet.  You go and sit in front of your fire and I'll send a drink up in a moment."

I escaped her mothering somewhat thankfully, although I did have to admit that it had been cold in the carriage.  It was very nice to be able to flop in the chair in front of the fire in my room.  The promised drink had been sitting on the table in my room when I got there; evidently teleportation was a normal enough occurrence when magic was involved.  I opened Philosopher's Stone to where I had left off, occasionally sipping from the tankard on the table.  The drink was fizzy with a taste reminiscent of butterscotch and it sent warmth tingling down to the very tips of my toes.

***

I finished both the Philosopher's Stone and the Chamber of Secrets that night, finally crashing asleep in the early hours of the morning.  Give me a book that I like and I won't stop reading it once I get into it unless someone tries to drag me away from it with wild horses.  Possibly not even then.  I woke late the next morning with the sunlight streaming in through the window – someone had come in and opened the curtains while I slept.  Or it was possible that they were on some sort of magical automatic timer, I supposed.

I showered and then started on Prisoner of Azkaban while eating the breakfast that had appeared while I was in the bathroom.  Really, these books were quite good; I wasn't going to turn into a raving fanatic by any means, but I would definitely be pinching number four off my sister when I got home, if I didn't find a second hand copy before then.  I ate downstairs at lunchtime to avoid being completely antisocial, but I quickly returned to my room and book afterwards.  It had started raining sometime in the morning, so I felt no inclination to wander through the town.

By mid-afternoon I was wishing that I hadn't been so quick to send the Goblet of Fire off to my sister.  I watched the rain run down the glass, feeling oddly philosophical.  In some ways I regretted reading the books, because some of the things that had happened to me recently – or around me, at least – now had a bit of an explanation.  It was very much like watching a magician – if you knew the sleight of hand involved, then you didn't see the magic, only the trickery.   Food appearing on the table faster than I could walk up the stairs?  Obviously the work of a house elf, perfectly normal.

Then I caught myself; since when did I consider a house elf normal?  And what was so standard about a creature being able to teleport itself at will?  Knowing the what of magic didn't really make it any less magical, only understanding the how might be able to do that.

Having pulled myself out of my somewhat down mood, I pulled out my sketchbook and photos to do some more work on Tom's sketch.  I pulled out my CD player as well, to dispel the quiet that had become noticeable when I stopped reading, but I didn't turn the volume up so much that I couldn't hear the steady, soft beating of the rain against the window.

***

The sudden change in light was the first inkling I had that anyone else was in the room.  I had been working by the window, using the pale grey daylight.  The sudden yellowness of candlelight gave me a surprise – and then I saw the creature holding the candle.  I jumped up as far as I could, given that I was siting at a heavy wooden table in a heavy wooden chair.  The headphones were wrenched off my head and my pencils and eraser all went flying in different directions.  I ended up abruptly sitting back down when my thighs connected painfully with the table.

Two large, bright green, mortified eyes were looking up at me.

"Bobbi is sorry Miss, Bobbi is know anyone was here, Bobbi is so sorry, is Miss all right?"

I took a slightly shaky breath and reassured Bobbi that yes, Miss was fine.  Then I knelt down on the floor to gather my scattered pencils.

"No, Miss is not to be doing that, that is for Bobbi to do!"

The house elf – or so I assumed, as she bore more than a passing similarity to the descriptions of Dobby – swiftly picked up the fallen pencils and eraser, arranging them neatly on the desk while I looked on, still reeling a little from being face-to-face with something that, by all laws of nature, should not be able to do the things it did.

I stood and brushed the carpet fluff off the knees of my jeans.  It was getting quite dark; I hadn't noticed the fading light as I sketched.

"Bobbi, I'm going down to have dinner now – could you just leave the table like it is, please?"

It took me a while to convince Bobbi that yes, I really did mean for her to do less work.  During the course of that particular conversation, it emerged that she was somewhat offended because I made up my own bed each morning, rather than leaving it for her to do.  I puzzled over that on my way downstairs, finally deciding that house-elves were very strange creatures indeed and that I'd never understand them.  Entering the main room on the ground floor, I got my second shock for that night – although admittedly it paled significantly in comparison to the first.

The room was crowded and it was noisy.  I'd grown used to having people scattered among the tables, leaving the outer ones empty.  Tonight there was barely room to walk between the tables, although Madam Rosmerta managed it with a speed that didn't seem possible.  She saw me standing in the doorway and nodded to let me that she'd send some dinner my way when she got a moment.  I spotted an empty seat at the bar and started to work my way towards it.  Halfway there, though, I was stopped by a tug on my arm; it was Albus.  He was sitting at a table with Professor McGonagall and a few people I didn't know.

"Ah, Jenna, good to see you.  Wonderful weather, isn't it?"

Albus smiled; I wondered if I should begin edging away.  He'd spoken with the cheerful sincerity of someone who truly does like the rain.

"Yes, if you happen to like grey skies, grey road and grey in between."

I managed to pinch a chair from a nearby table.  Albus began making introductions as I sat down.  It was decidedly weird, meeting people I'd just been reading about in supposedly fictional books.  Filius Flitwick was there, as short as he'd been described; some surreptitious checking on my part revealed that he was sitting on several cushions.  Riemann Vector was a rather rotund man with greying brown hair.  The final person at the table was Io Sinistra, who had startlingly large, dark eyes and thick black hair that fell well past her shoulders.

I was sitting between Io and Albus.  Io, upon finding out that I essentially knew nothing about astronomy, first stared at me in utter astonishment – what dreadful school had I been to, not to know anything about one of the fundamental subjects for any body's education? – then proceeded to try and teach me the entire first years'

curriculum before dinner.

Fortunately, Madam Rosmerta was an expert in her field; despite the number of people, dinner arrived for all of us within twenty minutes, cutting short Io's attempts to further my education.  For a while at our table there was that distinct absence of chatter that happens when everyone in a group has had a plate covered in good, hot food placed under their noses.

After we'd eaten, Riemann started asking me questions that I assume were related to Arithmancy, but I answered them with the small amount of maths and science that I remembered from high school.  The other teachers joined in and it soon became, on my part at least, more a development of whacked-out theories using pseudo-science and convoluted logic than anything else.  On the one hand, I had no idea what Arithmancy involved and very little clue about magic in general; on the other, none of the others at the table seemed to know even the most basic concepts of Newtonian physics.

At one point, I pulled out a biro that I'd left in the pocket of my jacket, intending to scribble some sums on one of the serviettes to demonstrate the fundamentals of 

Pythagoras' theorem and vector addition.  I thought Riemann and I were talking about the same thing, but we were both using completely different terminology, so it was hard to tell.

The biro, however, stopped all other lines of conversation.  Almost no one at the table had seen one before and they were fascinated by the concept.  Io and Riemann were taking turns writing on every serviette they could lay hands on, even getting some from other tables.  Minerva looked as if she wasn't really that interested, but she kept shooting sidelong glances at the biro while Riemann and Io were using it.

"Jenna?"

"Mmm?" I responded as Albus distracted me from the two children disguised as rational adults at our table.

"I was thinking that it would be... beneficial for our students if you could come in on Monday and give a talk to some of the classes, perhaps during their Care of Magical Creatures classes?  Hagrid will be indisposed for a while, one of his charges got a little enthusiastic this morning."

I blinked; this was not what I had expected, at all.

"You want me to come in on Monday and talk to some classes," I sad, testing the idea out and making sure I'd heard right.

Albus simply nodded.

"About what, exactly?" I asked.

"Are you aware of recent events here?"

"Umm, well, it depends on what you mean by recent – I've finished book three."

"Two years behind then..."  He pushed his glasses up his nose a little. "I really should fill you in -"

"Albus, if we're talking about that, might I suggest we move somewhere more private? Jenna's room, perhaps?" Minerva murmured, sotto voce.  She glanced at me questioningly.

"I don't mind," I said, rapidly trying to remember if I'd left anything embarrassing like underwear on the floor.  I didn't think I had – besides, Bobbi would have probably picked it up.  I hoped.  "There's only one chair, though."

"I'm sure we'll figure something out."

***

A few hours later I shut the door as my impromptu guests left, feeling rather overwhelmed with information.

Albus, with helpful (and not so helpful) interruptions from the others, had just informed me of the major events in the wizarding world in the past two years.  Everything he'd told me was important and I got the idea that there was a lot of stuff nearly as important that he'd had to ignore.

He then went on to explain that he wanted to keep the upcoming war confined to the wizarding world as much as possible, unlike the events preceding the death of Grindelwald in 1945.  From the way he spoke, I gathered he wasn't motivated purely out of concern for us poor, supposedly defenceless Muggles; apparently far more wizard deaths during the Grindelwald war had been Muggle instigated than Wizard intigated and the magical population, never large to begin with, had taken a long time to recover.  It wasn't that Muggles had aimed specifically for wizards, but that bombs and guns don't discriminate.

Events in the wizarding world, while by no means solely responsible, had helped trigger World War II; Albus wanted to do everything possible to prevent the same thing happening again.

The magical world had isolated itself from the mundane world centuries earlier in order to protect itself, but that had led to a self-induced ignorance, perpetuated by the wizards' belief in their own superiority.  This had already caused a huge amount of damage fifty years earlier; a few had since recognised the danger and attempted to rectify it – the introduction of Muggle Studies into the school curriculum was one of the few things that had been done – but most had taken the tried and true path of achieving bliss through ignorance.

Albus wanted me to try and give the students some idea of the damage that Muggle weapons could inflict.  Most of them had never heard of a machine gun, let alone an atom bomb.  I agreed; I really don't like speaking in public, but for some reason I got the idea that I'd like war a whole lot less.

I hoped there was a library that would let me print stuff open on Sundays; I was going to have to give myself a crash course in the Muggle version of World War II.  

Then I groaned; this meant using the floo again.  I was beginning to wish that I'd never dozed off in the train station in the first place.

Author's Note:  Yes, this has been a long time coming, and I dedicate it to everyone who has commented, owled, emailed, poked and prodded me (virtually or otherwise) and is still actually reading this.  Yes, I know it was over six months between chapters.  There were various reasons for that, none of which I'll bore you with.  I am not happy with this yet, I need to go over it again, but I'm putting it up because it's been so long.  If anyone wants to Britpick the dialogue and let me know of corrections that should be made, go ahead, be my guest.  Just don't touch Jenna, I know how she speaks.  


	13. Leprechaun Memories

Chapter 11:  Two and two 

I stumbled out of the fireplace and noticed with a vague sense of relief mixed with a hefty amount of shock that this time I had at least managed to arrive back at the Three Broomsticks instead of some poor person's home.   The shock was only partly due to this accomplishment; most of it was because the room was completely packed.  I had left that morning to do some research for Dumbledore's little idea and there had only been the usual number of breakfast people.  Now it was worse than it had been the night before.

The fireplace began to rattle ominously behind me and I quickly stepped to the side, lest I become an involuntary landing pad for the second time in less than a week.  I pushed back the hood of my raincoat and tucked a few sodden strands of hair behind my ear; most of it was dry, but the front bits hadn't had a hope, even with the raincoat hood up.  The rain had been bucketing down and I had been walking into the fairly strong wind a lot of the time.

It was surprisingly easy to pick a path through the crowd.  Warm, dry people tend to make way for those who are dripping so much that a small lake would form if they stopped for a few minutes.  I had already left one sizeable body of water by the fireplace.

"Jenna!"

I wondered if there was some sort of jinx on me.  Both times that I had tried to walk across this room while it was crowded I had been interrupted enroute.  This time it was Blaise who had called out.  I stopped by the table he was sitting at.

"Trying to single-handedly flood the room?"

I looked down at the floor by my feet; already a large puddle was forming.

"Well, I was going upstairs so I didn't ruin any food, but this person less considerate than I stopped me..."

Blaise widened his eyes in overdone shock and horror.

"No, not the food!  That would be a crime worthy of dire punishment, to ruin anything cooked by our esteemed hostess!"

He gave a mocking bow, which looked decidedly ridiculous since he was still sitting.  I turned and saw that said esteemed hostess was standing behind me, eyeing my dripping form somewhat warily.

"I take it you'd like a nice, hot bowl of soup?"

"Yes, down here thanks, but I'll go up and remove this first," I replied, gesturing to my raincoat.

Madam Rosmerta turned away to attend to some other customers, but not before I caught sight of the somewhat relieved expression of her face.

"I'd better go up before I really do flood this place out," I said to Blaise.

"I'll still be here," he replied with a slight smile as Millicent arrived, bearing two tankards of a fizzy, foamy liquid, light amber in colour.  "I'm not intending to move until I've finished this – and possibly one or two more."

I resumed my trek towards the stairs, with somewhat more success than before.  I shut the door to my room with a sense of relief and removed my sodden clothing.  The raincoat went into the bathroom, draped over the edge of the bathtub where it could drip all it liked and welcome; baths are designed to cope with lots of water, after all.  My jumper and t-shirt were dry, thanks to the raincoat, but no such luck for my pants.  They were soaked from about mid-thigh down.  I changed those and tugged one of the wet strands of hair thoughtfully, before deciding that the safest thing to do was to leave it in its ponytail.  I could already feel my scalp shrinking in fear at the very thought that I might attempt to brush my wind-tangled hair while it was still wet.  It was going to be painful enough when it was dry.

Feeling decidedly drier, I headed back downstairs for some decidedly late and consequently much-needed lunch.  I sat down with Blaise and Millicent and didn't have to wait long for my meal to arrive.  That was rather fortunate, as I was starving.  Had I been left for too long unfed, I suspect that the table may have shrunk a little and that an observer with good hearing may have heard gnawing sounds from the vicinity of the table's legs.

As well as the soup, Madam Rosmerta had brought me one of the drinks that Blaise and Millicent – and several other people, I noticed when I looked around – were having.  Taking a sip, I recognised the butterscotch-ish flavour from a few nights ago.  Now, as then, it sent warmth tingling through my fingers and toes.

"Why are you guys here?" I asked the other two at the table.

"Free icecream, of course we came," Blaise replied.

"And there's a rumour that the fireworks are being supplied by the Weasleys.  Much as I had to admit it, their display last year was passable," added Millicent.

I slapped my forehead.

"Oh.  My.  God."  I did some quick counting off of days.  "Today's Saturday, isn't it? Opening day of that icecream place."

They looked at me as if I had slightly less intelligence than an earthworm.  I was inclined to agree with their assessment; no wonder there were so many people in here.  I mentally thanked any deities that were listening that I hadn't made some comment along the lines of "shouldn't you be in school?" to Blaise and Millicent.

"Right, well, now that my brain has managed to catch up with the rest of the world, what's happening between now and whenever this icecream thing starts?"

"We've got an hour or two before they decide to start deafening us, which leaves ample time to visit Gladrags and a few other stores."

Blaise looked less than pleased when Millicent mentioned Gladrags, but he didn't voice any objections.  Personally, I was looking forward to going around Hogsmeade with a few locals – or near-locals, anyway.  At least they could do magic.  I was also wondering whether or not Draco had mentioned the little fact that I wasn't a witch.  They weren't treating me any differently than they had the night at the school and I figured I'd just play it by ear.  If they didn't mention it, I wouldn't.

I went upstairs when I'd finished my drink to retrieve my raincoat and change back into my bushwalking boots.  Heavy they may have been, but I could put up with a lot if it meant having dry feet.

Wandering down the street, I noticed a large crowd outside Honeydukes.  No.  Not just large, but Large with a capital L.  People – mostly teenagers, students I assumed – were spilling out the door.  And despite the weather, they seemed content to wait outside until others left to let them in.

"What say we don't go in there until it's actually possible to get in the door?"

Millicent had noticed the crowd at the same time I did and her comment caused Blaise to look over.

"If we vote, I think it would be unanimous, so let's not bother.  I wonder what marketing gimmick to lure in the gullible they've come up with now?"

Marketing gimmick?

"Oh..."

In all the events of the past few days, I'd half forgotten my previous visit to Honeydukes and the results thereof.  While it wasn't pouring down with rain in Hogsmeade, it was drizzling – the constant sort of drizzle that makes everything somewhere between damp and wet through sheer bloody-minded persistence.  No wonder people were crowding into the shop until they spilled out the door and huddled under the awning.

I explained to Blaise and Millicent what the "marketing gimmick" was.  Blaise looked as if he was seriously thinking that braving the crowds might be worth it, but Millicent decided to enforce the previous decision by the simple expedient of pulling Blaise into Gladrags.  I followed, simply happy to be out of the drizzle.

Once inside, Blaise headed straight for one of the chairs thoughtfully provided for the long-suffering males dragged into the shop.  Millicent walked straight to the back of the shop and started going through the racks there.  I stood and stared.

I should have been a least a little prepared.  All the wizarding shops I'd been into so far seemed to go out of their way to astonish the unwary visitor and there was no reason for Gladrags to have been an exception.

I had begun to accept the magically inclined people wore robes, cloaks if it was cold and hats from the standard pointy-tipped variety to those that defied description.

What I hadn't realised was the variety of attire that come under the term "robe."  I tended to associate "robe" with the cassocks monks wore, but the merchandise in that shop was forcing me to rapidly resort my thinking.

I wandered over to the racks, flicking through the amazing variety of styles and colours.  Bright purples, deep greens and intense blues flashed past, some beaded, some embroidered, some left plain for the fabric to speak for itself.  There were robes reminiscent of dresses from the turn of the century and others that did resemble the cassocks I'd expected, although I doubted a monk would ever wear something with fauns along the hem and the edges of the sleeves.

Another rack held garments styled much like kimonos.  I looked through those with a little more interest.  If – and it was a very small if – I were to buy something from here, it would have to be something that could pass without comment at something other than a fancy-dress party.

A deep blue one caught my eye and I pulled it out.  A sleeping dragon was embroidered on it in silver thread, curled around the bottom among flowers and trees and grass, while the sleeves had an edge of stylised clouds on them.  It appealed to me, so I decided to try it on.  Maybe I could pass it off as a dressing gown, or whatever the cotton robes that Japanese hotels provided for guests were.

I looked in the mirror as I was putting the robe on and realised that I had been mistaken; the dragon wasn't sleeping, as I had thought, but was looking upwards with a quizzical expression.  I had no idea how the embroiderer had managed to give a dragon a quizzical expression, but they had.

I mentally shrugged and finished tying the robe up, simply thinking that I hadn't looked that closely at the dragon in the first place.  It wasn't until I looked up for the second time and saw the dragon yawning – yawning and stretching like a cat and sending little puffs of sliver, embroidered smoke floating upwards – that I realised that the needlework had been magicked to move.  Much like the brush strokes in the paintings at Hogwarts, the individual stitches moved as the picture in its entirety did.  Vaguely I wondered where the stitches depicting the smoke came from, whether they formed and faded as it did or if they had been part of the dragon.

I laughed softly as the dragon sneezed, setting a bit of the grass alight and quickly stomping the flames out.  I was definitely getting this robe.

A little while later, with my wallet a few galleons lighter, the three of exited Gladrags and backtracked to Honeydukes.  The assistant at Gladrags had thoughtfully charmed my bag to ensure that the contents would stay dry despite the weather.

Honeydukes was still crowded, but at least people were no longer spilling out the door and we were actually able to get inside.

Even with two assistants, Terrance was hardly able to deal with his customers quickly enough.  He appeared to be mixing the liquefied chocolate with milk and a little cream; a good idea, I thought, as the straight chocolate had been very rich.  Delicious, but rich.  He was giving out small samples for people to try and by the looks of things, nearly everyone who tried was buying some.  I wondered where he'd got the glasses from and who was doing the continuous washing up.

I slipped around the edge of the crowd, towards the confectionary side of the shop.  The atmosphere encouraged people to be a little freer with their money than perhaps they normally would be and I wanted to try a sugar quill.  Blaise and Millicent followed me; later Blaise explained that they weren't particularly interested in sugar quills, but that it wouldn't have done for a Slytherin to be seen as being enthusiastic to any degree about something as plebeian as hot chocolate.

There were little cards labelling the flavours in each one.  I was trying to decide between a blueberry and kiwi feather and a lemon and almond one.  Terrance spotted me while I was deliberating.

"Take both on the house," he grinned.  "And here -" he pushed three cups of the hot chocolate along the bench "- for you and your two friends.  That idea of yours was one of the best I've heard in a long time!"

We left Honeydukes, warmed by the hot chocolates.  Blaise and Millicent were saying that it was a pity it couldn't be bottled, while I was thinking that I was going to have to re-read some Roald Dahl books when I got home, if it led to benefits like these.

Eventually, after wandering into a few of the other shops on our way and taking a few detours down side streets to avoid large clumps of people, we decided it was time to head towards Fortescue's and brave the crowds.  The sky was darkening rapidly – it had been early afternoon by the time I'd got back to the Three Broomsticks, hence why I had been ready to eat the legs off the tables – and the fireworks should be starting fairly soon.  I was looking forward to those; I found them wonderful even in normal circumstances, but with magic thrown in as well, they should be truly spectacular.

Despite the weather, the crowd at Fortescue's was even bigger than the one at Honeydukes had been.  People were sitting at tables or leaning against walls, idly chatting as they either consumed their icecreams or looked on enviously as companions able to make theirs last longer continued enjoying theirs.

We pushed our way inside, people who already had their icecreams obligingly making way for us while those who hadn't pushed their own way forwards.  Eventually we made to the front, not without a little judicious use of elbows, and I was faced with a dilemma worse than the one I'd had in Honeydukes.  I hadn't even imagined that icecream could come in so many flavours.

Eventually I decided on almond with chocolate fudge ripple; I'd never had almond icecream before, but if it was anything like almond bread, I knew I'd like it.  Blaise and Millicent made their choices and we battled our way back outside, people rapidly filling the space we left at the counter.

There's something about licking icecream in a cone that always reminds me of summer as a child.  It didn't matter that I was leaning against a cold stone wall and that it was almost dark, the ending of a cold, grey day; in my mind I could see the picnics by the Blackwood river, with us kids constantly in and out of the water, trying to pull the adults in with us.  Mum would be waving away the flies with a branch off a gum tree and trying to tell us that we shouldn't be running around so soon after eating and we'd be happily ignoring her.

Suddenly there was a loud boom! as the fireworks started.  Fireworks are like icecream in that nearly everybody loves them.  Nobody care how much of an idiot they look as they stare skywards, because everyone else is doing the same thing.

These fireworks were truly spectacular, putting the non-magical efforts to shame.  Blindingly white wheels skittering just above the ground turned into unicorns galloping around us, magnificent purple and red and gold dragons exploded into being over our heads and other rockets burst into a thousand little fiery green men showering gold upon us.  

I reached up as the coins fell, mildly surprised when I caught one.

"Leprechaun gold, it'll be gone by tomorrow," Millicent said dismissively when she saw what I'd done.

"Maybe so, but we can still flip it today."  Blaise took the coin from my hand.  "Heads say we grab another icecream before we go, tails a final butterbeer?"

"I hope heads, I can't really be bothered moving too far," Millicent replied as the coined tumbled and fell.

Heads it was, to her satisfaction.

"I believe this is yours, for the duration of its brief existence."

Blaise returned the coin and I slipped it in my pocket as I mumbled some thanks.

"I might head off, I don't think I can fit another icecream in.  Have a good day tomorrow."

I left them to make their way back inside – considerably easier as the crowd had dispersed quite a bit when the fireworks had finished.  I was thinking I'd take a bit of an indirect path back to the Three Broomsticks and enjoy the night for a bit.  Once again, however, I was interrupted enroute. There _had_ to be some sort of jinx on me, there was no way this could just be coincidence, happening so many times.

This time it was Hermione, Harry standing by her.  Behind her Ron was talking to a few other red-heads; one was a girl I vaguely recognised, two seemed to be twins, identical except for the smudge of soot on one's nose and the remaining one in the group had long hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"Brilliant, don't you think?"

"Absolutely!  Nothing could compare to our marvellous -"

"- and magnificent, dazzling display of -"

"- fabulous, fantastic fireworks!"

Definitely twins.  Hermione was laughing and as one, the pair turned to her.

"What, you didn't think so?  We're shocked!"

"Dismayed!"

"Saddened beyond hope!"

"Wounded to the – oof!  What was that for?" 

Soot-smudge turned to glare at the red-haired girl, tenderly rubbing the spot where she'd elbowed his ribs.  Ron just grinned.

"Jenna, meet my sister Ginny, mighty elbower of Hogwarts, and my brothers Fred -" he gestured to Soot-smudge "- George and Bill."

Ginny looked at me.

"Hey, you're the girl who picked up Neville's toad at the train station!"

Ah, so that was why she looked familiar.  Really, the red hair should have tipped me off sooner; the damp weather was probably slowing my brain cells down.

It turned out that Fred, George and Bill had somehow or other managed to get permission to take their sister, their youngest brother and his two friends out for dinner in Diagon Alley.

Ron said Bill was probably the one who'd done it; they probably still thought he had some vestige of responsibility left in him from his days as head boy.

Bill said there was hardly any trickery involved, he'd simply asked.  Oh, except he hadn't really mentioned that Fred and George were going to be there, but if Professor McGonagall couldn't work that out by herself then she was getting slow in her old age and didn't deserve to be head of Gryffindor house anymore.

Fred and George said if she was getting slow it was because they weren't around to keep her on her toes anymore and there wasn't anyone else up to the task yet.

"Right then, shall we be off?  Jenna, do you want to come as well?"

Hermione smiled.  "You should.  They'll outnumber us a bit less that way."

I eyed the group.

"How do you mean, males or Weasleys?"

"Both!  And also those who know nothing about Muggles."

It was my turn to laugh and I agreed.  It should be interesting to eat with a group of wizards and witches, if the previous night was any indication.

Once we got to the Three Broomsticks I asked the others to wait while I ducked upstairs to drop my shopping and change shoes.  While I was up there I picked up my sketchbook and slipped Tom's sketch in it to keep it flat.  I'd finished it the night before, unable to sleep with all the information Dumbledore had told me whirling around in my head, and seeing as how we were going to Diagon Alley, it was likely we'd pop into the Leaky Cauldron at some point.

Throwing my sketchbook and pencil case into my bag, I hurried back down the stairs to the others, mentally groaning at the thought of yet another floo trip.

***

Overconfident, I fell over as the floo trip ended.  I thought I'd been getting the hang of it; the previous trip I'd not only ended up in the right places, I'd also managed to stay upright.

Harry gave me a hand up and Hermione helped me beat off the soot.  I checked my bag; fortunately no soot had managed to get inside during the spinning, whirling journey, but I thought I'd best get Tom's sketch to him before anything did happen to it.

I walked over to the bar while the Harry and Hermione waited for all the Weasleys to arrive.  Tom was chatting to one of his customers, so I waited until he finished.

He frowned when he saw me.

"I ought to know you... Jenna, isn't it?  What brings you here this time?"

"Just passing through and I thought I'd drop off a certain sketch while I was here."

"Did you now?  Let's be seeing it then."

I pulled the sketchbook out of my bag and opened the cover, showing the sketch of the Leaky Cauldron sitting inside.

Tom cleaned his hands and pulled it over towards him to have a better look.  I watched him study it, feeling somewhat nervous and thinking of a thousand and one ways I might have able to make it a bit better.

He looked up. 

"Excellent, I'll have to get it framed.  Bit different, having a picture that doesn't move, but I like it."  He grinned. "I'd be owing you a bottle of pumpkin juice now, wouldn't I?"

Hermione came up to me while Tom went to get the bottle.

"Coming?  Everyone's turned up now, Fred and George together of course, they fell over each other when they tried to step out of the fireplace.  They were worse than you, they were face down on the floor!"

I smiled at that picture.  It was nice to know I wasn't the worst floo traveller.

"Almost, I just need to get something from Tom."

Tom came back then with the bottle of juice in a paper bag.  The bag clinked as he handed it over and I looked at him suspiciously.

He put on a mock-innocent expression.

"Sometimes customers think what you sell is worth more than the asked price."

I smiled.

"Thanks Tom, I'd better leave, they're getting impatient."

"Better not keep them waiting then!"

I picked up my sketchbook, leaving Tom's sketch with him, and tucked it back in my bag as I made my way back over to the group dominated by redheads, Hermione beside me.

"Sorry about that, I just had to give something to Tom."

"Doesn't really matter, gave these to a chance to recover any dignity they have," Bill gestured to Fred and George.  Fred had cleaned the soot smudge off his nose and I had no way of telling the two apart any more.

We trooped outside, behind the pub, and I watched as Bill tapped the appropriate brick.  I knew what was going to happen, of course, as I'd read the first few books.

Or at least I thought I knew.  A description in a book can never describe something like that.  A whole wall moving itself, rearranging itself, forming an archway into somewhere unknown to me – it wasn't just the fact of the moving bricks, it was what they were turning into.

Diagon Alley at night was spectacular.   Lanterns similar to the ones in Hogsmeade lit it, hanging from lampposts running down the centre and from arms attached to the buildings.  Signs were lit either by more lamps or by the letters themselves.  It wasn't at all like the harshness of neon lights, more like a glow. 

People were hurrying by, or ambling as they chatted in a group, or standing around and laughing.  There was a huge variety of clothing, from the robes I'd come to expect to the normal clothes that our group was wearing.

The three elder Weasleys in our group led us to a small-ish restaurant.  The sign overhead proclaimed it to be, quite simply, Ferguson's.  I was almost disappointed by the name; I had been expecting something implying that the owner was a Wizard, or proclaiming the magnificence of the establishment or some such, not just a name.

When the food arrived, I found out why were there.  The servings were more than generous; I had some doubts about my ability to finish the meal, especially given my late lunch and the icecream.  I had ordered a chicken dish and it was simply delicious.  The relaxed, casual atmosphere meant that we felt free to talk and laugh as we ate – probably a very good thing, as I doubted that any of the Weasleys could have restrained themselves to quiet conversation.

Topics drifted, from things such as Bill's work and the twins' escapades to their father's obsession with all things Muggle.  In one of the lulls, Hermione turned to me.

"I found out how you were able to see Hogwarts," she said quietly.

"Really?"  I was somewhat interested to find out the reason; I didn't want to be waking up one morning to find only a ruin and signs reading "keep off" where Hogwarts should have been.

"The anti-Muggle charms cover Hogsmeade as well – it makes sense, there's no point in being unable to see the castle if there's a wizarding village just down the road, I really don't know why I didn't think of that earlier.

Anyway, once you were inside Hogsmeade you were inside the charms, in a way, so they didn't work.  As for getting into Hogsmeade, well, you were on the train with us, so either they're set to accept everyone on the train as not being Muggle, or maybe they're just set to accept the train, or they couldn't detect you among all of the students."

She frowned thoughtfully.

"I think I sincerely hope it's the former, otherwise there may be a fault in the anti-Muggle charms.  Or it might just be an oversight on the part of the people who set them up, not expecting a Muggle to arrive surrounded by wizards."

Hermione smiled at Bill, who was looking rather interested in our conversation.

"It was lovely food but I really don't think I can fit any more in."  She sighed contentedly, patting her stomach. "Or not if I want desert, at least!"

I eyed the small amount remaining on my plate and privately agreed with her.  If I wanted desert, there was no way I could fit it in if I finished it off.  The question was, did I want desert?  Given about ten minutes, I figured I probably would.

After desert, I went to the bathroom.  Hermione came as well, although Ginny stayed behind, simply to break the girls-alway-go-to-the-bathroom-together phenomenon, or so she said.

Hermione said it was because she'd asked her not to, because she had to tell me something.

"Is this anything to do with the anti-Muggle whatsits around Hogwarts?"

"Oh, no, well, sort of but not really, more to do with the anti-Muggle protocol in general rather than the charms around the school.  Do you know about the memory charm – oh no, of course you wouldn't -"

"Ah, as a matter of fact, I have heard of it – the one that makes someone forget something?"

"Yes, that's the one – you do know about it then?  That's good, I just wasn't sure if you realised, but since you do, it's ok."

She seemed relieved about something but I was just plain confused.

"Hang on, realise what, exactly?  I know _of_ the memory charms, but what am I supposed to realise?"  

"Oh..." Hermione bit her lip and looked down at the floor.  "You know why memory charms are used most often, to make Muggles forget if they see something they shouldn't, don't you?"

"Well, yes, I suppose I vaguely realised that..."

I looked at Hermione, who seemed quite anxious about something.

"I really shouldn't be telling you this, but I really don't agree with tampering with people's memories - "

"Hang on a moment."  I was rapidly putting two and two together and getting four.  "They make Muggles forget_– I'm_ a Muggle - They're going to make me forget? A whole week?  I won't know about it, nothing?"

"I don't know, I just don't know.  I don't know what Dumbledore's planning to do, I don't know what he thinks about using memory charms, they can go really wrong especially if it's a large piece of time they're removing, not just an hour or so like it usually is."

I don't really remember much about the rest of that night.  The twins were being their amusing selves, Bill looked at me askance a few times, but I spent most of it feeling rather shocked.

They were going to take a week of my memories away from me.  A week of my life.  Memories are part of you, so really they were going to take a week of _me_ away from me.

Just a week ago I'd simply been a backpacker who liked to sketch.  How did life get so complicated so fast?


End file.
